For Honor, Then Love
by WriteYourDreamsTheyWillCome
Summary: Marq. Mark Debonairo lost everything. Tanya had nothing. A promise to his father's dying friend meant keeping his gentleman's word - marrying the spinster daughter who had fallen from England's Society. He proved to be a surly, grief-striken recluse. She proved to be a sunny spitfire who turned his world upside down. Starting as a marriage for honor, turned into a marriage of love.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I found this story in my binder from about 10 years ago, before I learned many of the writing "rules" of today's romance novel - one of them being not switching points of view within a chapter. For this story, it seems to work - adding character and reader depth without being confusing to the reader. I'm curious on reader's feedback. I'll post a few chapters to see what people think. Thanks!**

* * *

 _Early Fall 1864, England_

He rode in the carriage, swaying with the rocking on the bumpy country road. The ocean scenery in the dawn of the early morning was one that he'd consider breathtaking- under different circumstances. Wild, rugged hills and valley outlined against the belly of the crashing waves that swallowed and birthed rocks far older than he. Today, he felt as ancient as those monstrous boulders in the shallow waters of the sea. Today, he felt as isolated as those boulders so close to the peace of land but forever lost to the raping waters. He stared out the window and grew lost in the memories...

 _She had never seen the sea. How proud and excited be the one to introduce her to the mystical beauty. "Oh, Marcus, it is so magnificent!" she cried and bounced in his lap in the saddle._

 _He laughed without care, her pleasure warming his heart. "My angel, the best is yet to come." He steered the horse off the path and into the sand._

 _Her big blue eyes turned up to him with pure joy. "Are we going in?"_

 _Smiling down at the delicate beauty in his arms, he replied, "We'll wade in the waters. Don't go too far - I don't want the waves sweeping you away, sweetheart." He swung down and turned to her with his arms up to catch her._

 _She giggled and clapped her hands, as giddy as a child. "Hurry, take me in!" She slid off the steed and into his arms._

 _"Easy, Anna. We have all day." He chuckled and caught her._

 _Her eyes riveted on the sea. "Yes, but will a day be long enough? Oh, I'm so excited!"_

 _It seemed to take her a moment to realize that he still held her against the horse. She looked up at him in question as he gazed down at her. "You're so beautiful," he whispered._

 _She blushed as delicately as the rest of her was. "Husband, if we were caught by anyone like this, we would be scandalized and shunned for years." But she raised to her toes and brushed a tender kiss over his lips all the same._

He snorted at the memory. Scandalized. How his Anna would faint if she could see him now. She probably twisted in her grave knowing he was about to offer for a stranger so scandalized and shunned that the entire county called the woman an outcast. He pulled his top hat farther down on his brow and huddled into the neck of his overcoat. The chill of the sea air in the Fall... He hated the sea.

* * *

She awoke before the sun after a fitful night's sleep. There was no point in trying to rest, for her nerves were all a twitter awaiting for the clock to strike ten. She glanced at it for the thousandth time. Half past nine. A half hour to go until her life was doomed.

Grabbing her hairbrush, she stood before the mirror in her late father's cottage. One glance in the mirror said that any man would run screaming at the sight of a woman with such dark shadows under her eyes and auburn locks so wild. Her dress had worn to threads at the elbows and waistline. "You're about to meet your husband, and you look like a pauper," she said to the reflection. The dress was years out of fashion and strained to contain her. "But then, you are a pauper, aren't you?" The last of Papa's money had been spent burying him not even a fortnight ago. Not that she missed him - his last days had been spent agonizing over her "lost soul bound for Hell." His life had been spent in the bottle to escape how much she reminded him of her long-dead mother.

She set the brush to her hair and then thought better of it. Slowing setting it on the counter, she eyed herself. "Papa may've gotten an old friend to promise to wed you, but he'll have second thoughts after one look at you." She smiled. "No Marquess would take you for his wife." She gave her mangled hair a good tease and set out to the kitchen with a lighter step in her foot than in the past year.


	2. Chapter 2

The carriage stopped at a cottage. No, a shack, that was - quite frankly - pathetic. Stepping out of the carriage after the footman opened the door, he glanced at the driver. "You are sure of the address?"

"Yes, my lord. This is the residence of Miss Tanya Hartwig."

He pulled on his gloves and wrinkled his nose. Not even a title or middle name. Even her name sounded poor and as rundown as this place. Why had he ever promised his father's crazy old friend that he would see after a spinster daughter was beyond him. It had been a moment of weakness when he'd been missing Anna. And he regretted it every moment for the past month, but none more than right now. He raised a hand to knock on the door when it swung open to reveal a quite frighteningly haggard woman. He blinked in surprise. She looked...irritated that he had the nerve to be on her doorstep. "Um," he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain composure. He never lost composure and hated her for it. "I'm here to call on Miss Hartwig, madam. Is this her residence?"

"Indeed. Who are you?" she snapped.

He blinked, again speechless. Never had anyone dared to be so rude to him before. "I am Marquess Mark Reynold Debonairo, madam. Please inform your mistress of my arrival, as she is expecting me."

She didn't flinch.

His brow furrowed. Never had a servant ignored him.

"I'll tell her," she said dryly but didn't move. Pause. "She doesn't want to see you."

He, a man who kept his composure even in a crisis, had no idea what to do with the wench. "Madam - "

"Marquess, my father overstepped his bounds. You wasted your time making this trip." She stepped back to shut the door.

" _You're_ Tanya?" he blurted in shock.

She paused. "Yes."

How he was growing to dislike her - she kept him off kilter left and right. "Miss Hartwig, I gave my word to your father - " His words cut off and eyes bugged when she opened the door fully to reveal herself. And a slightly distended belly.

"As you see, you wasted your time." She swung the door.

He stared at a door shut in his face. No one had mentioned a baby. Nor how rude its mother was. He knocked again just on principle out of hating this woman for rendering him as speechless as a village idiot. The last time he'd been speechless, he'd still been in the nursery room.

The woman opened the door and glared.

"Madam, you are obviously in need of a good home and clothes, which I can offer. I gave my word to your father to grant you my name. I never go back on my honor." He stated it in his most iron-clad tone and desperately wished he was less than a gentleman so he could run from this disaster.

"I do not want your offer," she retorted with her nose in the air.

His mouth fell open, stunned by her rudeness. And the wench wasn't in a position to be choosy either. "And you have means to provide for a child?" he countered.

Silence. Her hand rested on her small belly and she looked at him.

She hadn't been able to obtain employment in her scandalous condition, and the last slice of bread had been eaten yesterday. He obviously didn't care for her more than he cared for the spider crawling on the wall. This man had the tall, dark, gorgeous and filthy-rich aura oozing from him. How many women would die for this man to offer marriage? Wouldn't she have four months ago? Here he was arguing for marriage - but a marriage of only honor. How she'd dreamed of a wonderful, romantic proposal since childhood. Four months ago, she'd been so ashamed that she would've cut off her right arm for a proposal from any man. Four months ago, she'd been naive and stupid.

"That's what I thought," he cut into her thoughts. He turned on his heel and threw over his shoulder, "I'll wait in the carriage. We can stop at a church on the way home."

And that was it - the only proposal she'd ever get. She watched her dreams and plans for her whole life go up in smoke in a heartbeat as she stared after him in despair. This man's pride kept him from accepting the fact that any woman could reject him. He likely also knew that turning him down meant starvation and death sooner than not.

The woman rode across from him in silence. Not once did this woman, technically now his betrothed, look at him. Instead, she seemed to prefer to look out the window during the long journey. And he preferred it that way. He'd set her up at home with fine clothes and a large allowance to see to herself and the babe, and then he'd move to his small country estate in the morning - far from the nosy eyes of Society where he could live out his life in peace. The less he knew about this woman, the better.

She had nothing, so she brought only herself. They rode forever. Forcing down the tears of misery, she stared out the window. A life of poverty and a death from starvation was surely better than a marriage of being the unwanted, obligatory wife. But how could she condemn the baby to poverty? She stroked her belly absently as the babe threatened to reject the half scrap of bread for breakfast in the swaying carriage.

"If you're going to be ill, do it out the window," he said tightly.

Her eyes flew to him in startled surprise. He looked back through cold eyes. She looked out the window and blinked hard. This was a man without a care for her other than disgust, like so many of the townsfolk since the baby had begun to show.

He felt like a damn brute when shame flitted across her face. "Oh, for Christ's sake, don't cry," he grunted in a gruff tone. His uncaring rudeness surprised even himself. He expected the floodgates to open as they would have if he'd spoken so harshly to Anna. Instead, this chit held his eyes.

"I never cry, Marquess." Her chin rose and her eyes flashed with challenge.

"Good, for I don't have the stomach for it." Good god, when had he become such a beast? Her gaze returned to the window, but not before he caught the flash of hurt in her eyes. It was then that it dawned - this woman had been as soft as Anna, but she'd learned how to build a wall to protect her heart. She'd probably learned in the recent months, if he had to wager a guess. He looked out the window. Anna would be ashamed of him mistreating this poor creature.

"Good, for I don't have the stomach to appease your bullying," she sighed as she stared out at the scenery.

His eyes flew to her profile. The sassy wench left him balking again, damn her! And, dammit, she intrigued him.

The carriage pulled up to a country church at noon. He exited before turning to offer her assistance.

"I can get out myself." She said it with a note of irritation.

"You are in a delicate condition," he argued begrudgingly.

She gave him a look. "You're astute, my lord," she retorted and slipped out on her own.

He bit his tongue and followed her up the steps.

"My lord!" the priest exclaimed as soon as he saw Miss Hartwig, "I will order a special license urgently today!" He must've had a blank look because the priest added, "The babe!"

"Oh," he mumbled in embarrassment and pulled at his neck collar, "Um, it's not mine." Since when had he turned into a fidgeting fool now too?

The priest gave her a dark look that left no doubts as to his thoughts on the matter.

Instant regret slammed in the gut the moment intense shame burned across the woman's cheeks so strong that her eyes dropped to the ground. He should've taken the blame to save her the slurs from a priest and town they'd probably never see again anyways. The moment she dropped her arms down to try to hide her small belly, the guilt hit tenfold.

The humiliation had been complete. This man didn't want to fulfill this obligation in the least, other than to keep his word. She turned to him, still unable to look anyone in the eyes and whispered, "You can go home now." She headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

She turned and glanced at the priest, who still glared at the sinner in his church, and then at him. "You upheld your end of the agreement, my lord. You can go in good conscience."

"And leave you on the road?" He frowned.

With a shrug, she pasted on a face far braver than rang true. "I've been left in worse state." She set a hand on her belly pointedly. "I'm sorry to have wasted your morning." Then she slipped out the doors and hurried down the steps before the tears would start. It would take until nightfall to walk home, but physical work would keep her mind off of the panic of what to do for food and money tomorrow. And the next day and next.

He should've jumped for joy at having his freedom the moment the woman walked out, but he found himself going after her. The embarrassment that he held at the priest's misunderstanding must be a fraction of the shame she lived with every day. Anger bubbled up at every being who had ever caused her such heartache - including himself.

Catching her by the elbow at the bottom of the steps, he stepped in her path. "I came to take a wife. _I_ pay him to wed us, and he will." He dragged her back inside. "Your job is to make an honest woman of her," he informed the priest as he pulled her down the aisle, "so here's your chance."

The marquess plopped her before the priest at the altar and shoved a bag of coins at him, to her mortification. Even a priest had to be bribed to marry a sinful woman.

Ten minutes later, they were on their way again in the carriage and she wore a gold wedding band. This man, this new husband, was a far cry the gentle man of her dreams, but she had a wedding ring now. She could go outside and not hang her head in shame and sin. Perhaps even making friends would be possible with this new beginning.

"Don't get ideas." He growled the words. She'd been glowing for a moment as she looked at that ring. She looked almost pretty with a soft daydream expression and the humiliation fleeing her eyes as she gazed at the ring. Her happy expression shattered the moment he spoke and looked at him. "You will be settled with the babe in my house, and then I will go to my country home. I'll send you a weekly allowance. You are free to write to request if you need more. Discrete lovers and no squandering your allowance are my two rules."

He would leave already? Of course. No man would want to stay and give the illusion of a real marriage to a woman like her. His immediate leave would make it clear to Society that it was a marriage of honor, not love or even convenience. "Yes, Marquess," she said softly amid shattered hope.

Her gaze returned sad and blank out the window again. He almost regretted his words. One day. He'd see her settled and stay for one day. Then he'd go. Already he'd proven in this short time that his heart was too battered for a woman.

It was better that the marquess was leaving. If he was this rude now, what would he be like in a temper? And so they rode on in silence.

Another hour passed and the carriage stopped, to her vast relief. Her back ached fiercely and the babe caused endless waves of nausea. Not to mention that it was half past two and he hadn't stopped to offer her lunch, which was probably the problem.

The man exited and didn't offer to help this time but waited with his back to her. She moved and held her screaming back. The footman had mercy and offered his hand.

She was taking forever. The brat probably disliked the house and was about to have a fit. He turned. Embarrassment and shame crept up. The woman looked stiff and like she tried to mask pain as the footman helped her out of the carriage. She held her back - he had heard about women in the family way having such pains during carriage rides. He stepped forward and the guilt flooded for not helping her. Or stopping for her to rest. Or feeding her lunch. As he offered his arm, he snapped, "You could have said you hurt." Where on earth had his gentleman's manners gone?

The marquess looked displeased and mightily irritated. "There was no need for me to hold us up." She overlooked his arm and instead looked up at the massive home tucked among acres of countryside just outside of town. "Oh my," she breathed.

He watched the small creature gaze upon his home in awe. The chit probably had never seen anything so massive. He tried to see it through a poor girl's eyes and could well imagine her amazement.

"This is your home?"

"Yours now. I'm moving out." He headed up the steps. Why was he being so unkind? He didn't intent to keep saying the things he did to her. Thoughts pulled him in so deep that he startled at the touch of a small hand on his back. He spun around to see the woman.

"My lord, you don't need to go on account of me," she said softly. "I can go to the country estate."

He scowled. "We aren't going to stand on the step and talk like beggars. Besides, I like the country estate better." Perfect - he'd just insulted her financial status and said he was giving her the unfavorable house all in one sentence. Why she didn't bash him over the head was a mystery. The butler opened the door and he stepped inside. His guilt fled the moment she entered.

The butler smiled. "This is our new lady?" He turned to her.

His hands fisted. An alarming urge to smash something surged up. Or to scream, _No! Your lady is dead! Dead!_ He glared at this stranger coming in to take Anna's place.

She took a step back as his look turned to one of rage, although she had no idea why. He looked like he might hit her. She turned to the butler, eager for an ally from this white-haired, gentle expression man.

One glance at her belly, however, and his expression fell flat and emotionless. There went that ally. "Shall I show her to the Blue Room, sir?"

"No," the marquess snarled, "the room in the East wing."

The butler bowed to the marquess and then started to lead the way toward the massive staircase. She turned to her husband. "You will be going now?" she asked carefully, his eyes still harsh.

He glared, turned on his heel and stormed into a room off the foyer, slamming the door.

"My lady, it's best to leave him alone," the butler said from the bottom stair. So, she followed him to her new room.

* * *

"The lady sends her regrets, my lord," the butler announced minutes before dinner.

He stood at the window of the library with his hands behind his back, staring out over the fields and forest. He rocked on his heels in irritation. "I marry the chit out of the honor of my word, and she cannot stomach dinner with me?"

"You have been holed up in here all day, my lord - "

"Answer me, Brigands," he cut in without turning around.

"Sir, 'tis the babe upsetting her."

He turned at that. "Pray tell it is not coming," he barked in anger.

"No, my lord. The lady is barely able to keep water down."

He ground his teeth. "Have Cook throw something simple together, and I'll eat on a tray."

"Sir, it's not good for you to be locked in here - "

"Go!" he snapped.

Once alone again, he battled his conscience. He could escape now and never have to see her again. But then she was ill and a gentleman's honor required that he stay until she improved. The dilemma still hovered when Brigands brought in a tray of bland food. The butler knew better than to disturb him and left quickly. He grumbled as he picked up the tray and headed for the stairs.

When he reached her room, he knocked. "Miss Hartwig?" He practically barked.

The door opened, and alarm shot his stomach to his throat at how pale she was. She held the doorknob for support and said weakly, "I'm sorry. I asked Brigands to send my regrets for dinner - "

He barreled into the room and set down the tray. "Do you need a doctor?" He turned from the nightstand to see her still at the door.

"No. Sometimes the babe makes me unwell, my lord."

"You look as if you're on your deathbed. Sit."

She shuffled over and sat on the bed. The man laid a hand on her forehead gruffly, likely to make sure she wasn't contagious to him.

"You're clammy," he frowned.

"One does that when ill, Marquess."

He turned to the tray. "I brought you bland food - "

"Thank you, but I can't keep anything down." She drew a shallow breath, the scent of anything causing her stomach to roll.

He scowled. "I brought bland food," he continued, "You didn't have lunch."

"Do you not eat?" The words blurted out. His physique was large and muscular, even through his undershirt, vest and dinner jacket it was apparent.

The man appeared disinterested. "My mind gets busy with other things. If Cook does not set food before me, I forget to eat."

So he hadn't meant to be rude not feeding her lunch. "Thank you for the clothes. They are beautiful. I've never had things so grand - or warm."

A pang hit his chest, and the tension in his shoulders faded a little for the first time all day. For some reason, it was disturbing that she had known the cold. And for some reason, it was pleasing to be able to take that hardship away for her.

"Were they your wife's things?" she asked in a soft tone, careful to not disturb this softening expression that overcame him for the first time since meeting. "I promise to be careful with them." Oddly enough, a need to see more of this gentle side of him surfaced. Apparently that wasn't meant to happen.

The marquess's face stoned over and he walked out, yanking the door shut behind himself with a slam. She sank onto the bed. "Good, now he hates you without question," she whispered to herself. The scent of food wafted this close to the nightstand. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she ran for the washroom.

He stood on the other side of the door with his heart still thundering. She'd brought up Anna out of nowhere. The last thing he wanted was to tell her anything about his sweet Anna. Retching came from within her room. Composing himself and steadying his shaky hands, he returned downstairs.

She laid in bed in complete misery when a knock came an hour later and a man in perhaps his late sixties entered. "Marchioness Debonairo, I'm Dr. Englewood. The marquess sent for me."

She pulled the rag off her forehead and gingerly sat up. "I don't need a doctor."

"He insists that I check you, my lady." He walked over and set down his bag. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Tis only the babe that makes me ill, sir. I'm fine."

The kind man frowned. "How far along?"

"Five months."

Sitting at his desk going over ledgers in the study, he set down his quill when the doctor walked in. He waited as the physician walked over to his desk.

The doctor didn't say anything.

"Well, what's wrong with her?" he demanded.

Dr. Englewood looked troubled. "Mark, this girl has not received any kind of care since she was impregnated."

"Many of the poor don't," he answered dryly.

"Yes, but she is very thin. Have you seen her?"

"Naturally not."

"She is underweight. On top of what the babe is draining from her, she has severe morning sickness and can't get in much for food."

"What are you saying?" he cut in without any patience.

"I'm saying that I'm concerned how healthy she is. Or, rather, isn't. The babe is significantly small for gestation. If they keep up at this rate, the babe will abort in the next month and she may not pull through either."

"You want me to overfeed her?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes. She needs to gain twenty pounds to get to a healthy weight, and about twenty more by the end of pregnancy."

He blinked. "She's twenty underweight even without pregnancy?"

"Yes. I told her to try peppermint tea for the morning sickness. If that doesn't work, I have a few other things. A last resort is a recent invention - a feeding tube. That's something I'd rather not try with a gestating woman, however."

Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his fingers under his chin. "It's that serious?"

"Mark, if this was a month from now that you brought her here, I'd likely be delivering you a dead child and trying to save your wife."

"It's not my child."

"You married the girl, so by law it is."

"I'm moving to the country estate and she's staying here," he countered.

The doctor gave him a patient look. "She can't be left alone in her condition."

"Brigands, Cook and the housekeeper are here."

But the physician just stood there looking at him.

A sigh of disgust released. "Don't look at me like that!" He stood and walked away to stare out the window.

The doctor's reflection appeared in the pane and a hand rested on his shoulder. "You know the right thing to do is stay and keep an eye on her, if only while she's getting to a safe weight."

"She can do that without me playing nursemaid."

"You don't have to play nursemaid. You just have to make sure she can eat and eat well."

"Brigands can do that," he said stubbornly.

"She's a sweet girl. Very intelligent."

"She's a brat."

"Very pretty - even prettier filled out."

"She looks like a beggar."

"Becky helped her clean up. She looks very pretty, Mark. Perhaps you should see."

He snorted. "I don't need to see her - I'm leaving in the morning."

"Do you know who she reminds me of?"

Whirling around with his hands fisted at his sides, his eyes shot sparks. "Don't."

"She reminds me of a more spirited version of Anna," the old man said calmly.

"Don't you dare speak of her," he hissed.

"Why? She has been gone for so long. She'd want you to start living again, Mark. She'd be proud of what you've done for this girl."

"She'd be in fits that I took a fall woman," he snapped and returned to his desk.

The doctor followed him over. "She'd want you to fall in love again."

His eyes snapped to the old man. "Don't even dare." He pointed angrily upstairs. "That girl was an obligation and it's all she'll ever be!" he shouted.

The doctor smiled. "You're scared because she makes you feel again."

For the first time in his life, he truly lost his temper. Snatching the Scotch cup on his desk, he hurled it at the fireplace burning to the right of his desk. "Get out," he snarled.

Picking up his bag, the doctor suppressed a smile. "Ah, Mark, you can't scare this girl away with your temper. The Marquess Debonairo is as unglued as I've ever seen him, and I think it's because of your 'obligation,' who is more than that to you, perhaps? Admit it - she got under your skin and you fight it because you like it. She woke you from the dead. The first breath you draw will be the hardest, but it will be sweeter after that."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"You'll see," he smiled and turned.

He blinked in surprise when the doctor moved, revealing a beautiful woman standing in the doorway. Her hair shined a golden brown with soft curls that cascaded to her waist. A warm but feminine cotton nightgown covered her from neck to ankle, and delicate feet were bare. At first, embarrassment rushed up at seeing her in nightclothes, but then he spotted tears on her pink cheeks.

"Is it normal to bleed after an exam?" She hiccuped through the tears.

His eyes flew to between her feet where drops of blood collected on the wood floor.

Before the doctor even spoke, he tore across the room and scooped her up, taking the stairs two at a time. The doctor followed on his heels. This woman was dangerously light - her skeleton easily felt through the nightclothes. Right then it became clear that he couldn't leave her - without a guilty conscience.

Laying her on the bed, he stepped back for the doctor to work. She wept as the doctor tried to figure out what was wrong. "Keep her calm, Mark!"

He stepped forward and patted her hand, having no idea how to offer a woman comfort anymore. "There, there. He'll take care of the babe."

She grabbed his hand and gave no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong with him?" The damn woman looked up with big, tear-filled brown eyes overflowing with fear.

"He's figuring it out," he said gently and brushed a stray lock of hair from her brow.

"She's going into labor. I have to sedate her to stop it." The physician looked at him and waited for permission.

He looked down at her. "Can he give it?"

She nodded, tears soaking her cheeks.

"No, I need your permission."

His eyes flew to the doctor. "What?"

"You're her husband and have say over her treatment. Can I give it?

"Yes! Yes, do it!" he barked in a panic.

He held her hand as she fell asleep from the chloroform rag the doctor held to her face. Letting out a shaky breath, he released her hand. It took a moment to have cohesive thought again.

"The labor stopped."

"They're fine now?"

"For now." The doctor continued an exam.

Walking into the hall, he paced. His hands still shook. His hands never shook. The doctor came out fifteen minutes later. "They're both quiet. She'll be asleep another half hour or so with the dose I gave."

"What happened?"

Running a hand over his face, the doctor sighed. "The pregnancy is more fragile than I thought. The exam disturbed the babe enough to cause labor. Mark, I need you to monitor her and the baby's heart rates. I'll be by every day to check on her. She needs to be on bedrest of a week, only getting up for the washroom - "

"Becky can check her."

The ever-patient man let out an irritated sigh. "Becky isn't the brightest woman. I want you checking on her."

"I'll get her a midwife."

Throwing him a look, the physician grabbed his arm and dragged him inside. "Check the baby's heartrate for a baseline right now." He pulled up her nightgown to bare her belly.

"This is indecent!"

"She's your wife."

"No, she's not," he huffed.

"Check the baby," the doctor ordered.

Taking the end of the stethoscope, he kept his fingers well away from her bare skin. His cheeks burned in embarrassment at seeing her naked belly. The damn woman flustered him even in her sleep. He glanced at his pocketwatch to time the heartbeat. "One hundred fifty."

"Good. Send for me if it drops near one hundred or lower. Make sure she feels movement every couple hours. If not, check the baby's heartrate. Bleeding, cramping, all of that, call me. Let's check her pulse." He waited a moment. "She's coming to." Then he packed his bag.

"Wait, you're leaving?" he panicked.

"Do you want to pay me to sit and watch her sleep?"

"Yes! What if she - "

The physician smiled and clapped a hand on his back. "You know what to do. Send for me if you're concerned. I'll be by in the morning. Welcome to fatherhood where worry is the territory."

"It's not mine. I'm leaving as soon as she's off bedrest," he insisted.

The doctor looked him in the eye. "Being a father doesn't mean he came from your loins. I only saw one man here when she was losing the babe."

"Because you needed help keeping her calm," he retorted.

The physician just smiled and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thanks for the review, JustKerstin! I'll put more chapters up being someone likes it. :)**

* * *

He sat in the chair across the room and waited for the girl to awaken so Becky could take over. He didn't want to take care of a woman. He didn't want to stay. He'd left this morning expecting to throw a house and money at her and leave her far behind by sunset. Now, he had a woman and babe on his hands...and he was playing nursemaid for the next week. He ground his teeth and stared out the window.

A candle burned somewhere, giving a dim glow to the unfamiliar room. She looked around in confusion. She was in bed.

He'd been startled by the sharp pang in his chest the moment she'd opened her eyes. Relief. It'd been forty-one minutes of agonizing over her breathing too fast, too slow, too deep, too shallow. He was about to send for the physician when she woke up. Something warm blossomed in his heart the moment she looked his way. The slight swell of the babe, the sleepy look in her eyes...she looked so maternal and soft and gentle.

"Tim?" she said softly with a dry throat.

A bucket of ice water dumped overhead. She called for a man. Another man. Slamming the door to his heart that she had picked open, he walked over to her.

A floorboard creaked. A large silhouette approached. Fear shot into her throat and she shot upright, crying out and grabbing her belly when sharp pain tore through.

The silhouette pressed her shoulders back down. "You're in your new home in Glenhaven," a deep voice growled. "Lie down. The doctor ordered bedrest for a week." He let go and straightened, his face coming into view.

It all came rushing back. "The baby? Is he alright?" She grabbed her belly. The swell of the babe was still there.

"It's sound for now. The physician wants you to have peppermint tea. You're having four meals a day and are to stay in bed, except for using the washroom." He looked down as if ready for arguing.

"You stayed?" She blinked.

"He didn't want anyone else until you woke up. Becky will take over - "

"No, I'm fine. Please don't trouble anyone." The deep frown of his mouth said she'd already been more trouble than her worth and he resented the setback to leaving for his country estate.

He walked to the door. "I'll have Becky take over," he repeated. "She'll bring up tea and food that I expect to be eaten," he commanded and shut the door.

No one could blame the marquess for his resentment. She was an obligation and now a thorn in his side. He obviously still missed his wife. It turned out there was something worse than an unwanted marriage - a mourned one. He stayed away all night.

* * *

The doctor entered the study where he poured over ledgers again the next morning. He looked up.

A frown interrupted the doctor's usually cheery expression. "She says you disappeared once she woke up."

"Becky took over watching her and was instructed to notify me if there were any problems."

"We discussed that you would watch her."

His eyebrow cocked. "She was fine and Becky is capable of making sure she's fine. I will do her heart rate exams."

"Do you want to know if she's alright?" the doctor asked tightly.

"I'm sure it would've been the first thing you said if she wasn't," he drawled and kept working.

"You're a heartless coward."

Ripping off his reading glasses, he shot to his feet. "What do you want me to do?! Spoon feed her?!"

Dr. Englewood leaned over the desk toward him. "How about show some human compassion?" he growled. "The girl had lost everything she's known and is thrown into the hands of a man she doesn't know while her baby is threatening to die."

"And I'm supposed to do what?! I called you when she needed a doctor. I gave her clothes, food and shelter. I'm giving her what she needs!"

"No, you're giving her what you have to in order to avoid a guilty conscience. Do you know anything about the woman who wears your ring? Have you even truly _looked_ at her?!"

"I don't want to know anything about her!"

The doctor slowly straightened. "Then why the hell did you take her? She is a human - she needs love and kindness and patience like Anna did. I'm not saying you have to love her, but don't make this a heartless marriage. She is aching for a friend. You are aching for a friend," he said softly.

"I do not need a female and her child on my plate. I am no more fit for companionship than a corpse," he growled and dropped into the chair.

"Just because Anna is dead doesn't mean you have to be too." The doctor pulled on his riding gloves. "Are you going to see to the girl or not? Becky has little brains and is no good - she let the girl's distress rise and she started bleeding again."

"What?! I told her - "

"Are you seeing to her or not?!" The doctor seemed at the end of his patience.

"I'll get a midwife - "

He spun on his heel. "I'm admitting her to the hospital," he threw over his shoulder.

"The hospital?!"

The physician turned in the doorway. "Either you watch her or a hospital does."

"There's cholera and croup going around in the hospital!"

"Is there now...Doctor?"

Mark gave him a dark look. "You're manipulating me, you bastard." He stormed out and marched up the stairs without a backwards glance.

She sat propped against pillows while reading a fascinating book when the marquess banged the door open and stood in the doorway.

"Are you fine?" he snapped and stomped over.

"Yes," she frowned in confusion. This man always seemed to be angry with her.

He snatched her wrist, sending the book tumbling, and stared at his watch. Then he pulled up her nightgown enough to bare her belly and listened to it with a contraption.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Sh!" He studied his pocket watch again. Seeming satisfied, he pulled down the nightgown and then ordered, "Lie down."

"Why?" For a marquess, he certainly had odd behavior.

"To make sure the babe is sound," he snarled.

She frowned. "The doctor just checked - "

His teeth audibly ground. "I said lie down."

So she did, uncertain what to think as he palpated. "Do you know what you're doing?"

The babe was too small for five months gestation. He palpated the small belly under his hands and frowned. Then he looked at her while continuing to palpate. This made no sense. Some of the belly distension didn't seem to come from the babe but up higher. The woman looked five months with child, but her womb wasn't that large. "You're certain of conception date?"

She nodded.

Then the marquess left just as quickly as he'd come. She pulled down her nightgown and stared at the open door. What a strange man.

But a moment later, he returned with a measuring tape. He pulled up the nightgown again and measured from the bottom of her belly to the top. "What date was intercourse?"

Her face burned. "June ninth," she whispered in humiliation.

His head whipped to her. "Who said you're five months pregnant?" He looked angry. Again.

"I overheard whispering at the market one day that you add a month from conception - "

He snorted. "You're four months, not five. That explains that."

She frowned. "The doctor already said the babe is four months."

His eyebrows shot up. "He didn't bother to inform me. You're still getting ill?"

"No, the peppermint helps."

"But you bled this morning?"

"It was so little that I didn't notice until the doctor pulled back the sheets." My, he seemed to fire off questions.

"Bright red or dark?"

"Bright red."

He pursed his lips and then leaned down, slipping his hands under the nightgown to feel her ribs. The man next pulled up her sleeve and looked at her arm before he felt her shoulder through the nightgown. "Christ," he whispered under his breath. "Sit up," he growled. When she sat up, he ran a hand down her back and ribs. "What have you been eating?"

"After Papa's funeral two weeks ago, I didn't have any money. I had a half loaf of bread left."

"What have you been eating?" he repeated without patience and ran his hands along her collarbone through the nightgown.

"Sometimes a slice of bread a day."

"With what on it?" he demanded an set the end of the instrument on her back and listened.

"I didn't have anything to put on it." The embarrassment burned hot.

"What did you eat the other days?"

Nothing. Pride prevented from answering, so she let silence serve as the answer.

He stopped and met her eyes, leaning forward slightly from beside her. "What food was left when I came?"

The words came out calm enough, but humiliation made her look down.

"How much?" His tone was so gentle this time. The tip of his finger touched under her chin and gently lifted her eyes.

Those warm blue eyes held so much compassion. He was so close that the little green flecks caught the light in his eyes. His touch was so gentle, so kind. "I found a little piece of bread on the floor the morning you came," she whispered so as not to break the intimate moment. It felt so safe right now to tell him the truth, like he wouldn't judge or be disgusted. He let out a long-winded sigh through his nose. And the moment shattered when he let go and straightened quickly.

"You and the babe are fighting each other for food," he said gruffly and turned away to set the stethoscope on the dresser. "You ate breakfast?"

"Most of it." She wrapped her arms around herself. He was so gruff and terse now, obviously disgusted at having such a pauper wife that she'd eaten stale, dirty food off the floor. "I got sick after eating two pieces of toast. The doctor said that would get better after my stomach grew. I don't understand what that means."

He didn't turn around. "That means your stomach shrunk from starvation. I will tell Cook to make you light meals for now. Six meals a day, understood?"

She felt like a naughty child that he needed to scold. "Yes, my lord. I...I'm sorry." Although she knew not what for.

The man didn't turn around. "It is I who should be sorry," he said quietly. Then he walked out.

Shutting the door, he walked down the hall but stopped and set a hand against the wall as the guilt slammed. Her belly was distended from starvation. While he'd been pouting about coming for her for four weeks, she and the babe had been starving to death. Another couple weeks and they'd both be dead. It was his fault. If her babe died, it would be because of him. He had to get her better and then leave as soon as possible.

* * *

The marquess didn't say a word each morning and night when he'd come to examine the babe. After three days, the physician stopped in and said the baby had been sound long enough that immediate danger may have passed.

She finally asked the marquess one night, "Did you go to medical university?"

He finished the exam. "You're both fine." Then he left.

* * *

The meals grew a bit larger at still six a day, but her stomach still felt full after only eating half the plate. One morning, the nausea was so strong that the plate went back down with Becky untouched. The marquess stormed in seconds later.

"Why aren't you eating?" he barked.

"The peppermint is gone and I can't keep anything down without it." Closing her eyes, she took a slow breath during a wave of nausea.

He stepped into the hall and bellowed. "Becky!"

The maid came running. "Yes, my lord?"

"We are out of peppermint?" The man practically bit the maid's head off.

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, tell the Cook to get more!"

"Yes, my lord." The girl ran off.

He stormed in and disappeared into the washroom. The water turned on briefly and then he came out with a compress that he set on the back of her neck. The man took great care not to make skin contact.

"Does everyone do your bidding?" The cold instantly cut the morning sickness by half.

"If they're wise," he retorted.

"Thank you." She sat back and held the rag on. "You're rumored to be a cruel recluse, but I think you're just sad." She looked up at him. He had a heart in there somewhere that peeked out now and then. Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

"And you're rumored to be a harlot," he snapped. He regretted the words instantly when the woman's eyes widened and she looked away quickly, as if holding back tears. "Who was he?" The words blurted out, not having intended to say anything.

"Who?" She didn't even look up.

"The father."

Weary eyes far older than her years met his gaze. "What have you heard?"

"I've heard that you don't know because there were so many lovers," he grunted. When she didn't say anything, he barked in irritation of not being answered. "Is that so?"

A sadness so deep vibrated from her, so profound that it shook his very core. "I've learned that people make their own judgments and believe what they will."

"Is that what I should believe?" The damn woman wouldn't just give a straight answer?

"You believed me a discarded mistress the moment you saw me."

He looked away, unable to deny her claim. When she stood, he blinked. "Where are you going?"

"To the washroom." She went in and shut the door.

Inside, she leaned against the door in relief to have an escape. He wanted privacy and now she did too. He wouldn't ask more questions if she didn't either.

When she opened the door a few minutes later, he still stood waiting impatiently in the bedroom.

"You didn't answer." The man growled.

She stopped in her tracks in surprise.

He marched over and swung her up in his arms like she weighed nothing.

Her arms wrapped around his thick corded neck out of instinct at being carried. His body heat seeped through the thin nightgown, such human contact a long-forgotten sensation. Hard muscles hid beneath his high-quality clothing. A strong brow arched over beautiful blue eyes and dark eyebrows. His nose had a tiny crook in the middle, as if he'd been in a fight once. She smiled. The man certainly knew how to provoke fights, but he seemed too uptight to get into a brawl. A square jawline and hint of a five o'clock shadow added to his air of masculine power. Even though he could be surly as a bear, it felt safe with him. For a brief instant, a need for him to hold her with tenderness rose up. It made the void inside her heart grew to a gaping wound.

"You didn't answer," he snapped and set her down. He pulled away her arms from his neck and stepped back so quickly that he bumped into the dresser behind.

A bitter smile bloomed. So that's what he thought of her touch - repulsive. Sealing her heart, she raised her chin to hold his angry glare. "No one believes me, my lord. I see no point in wasting our time."

The woman was too damn soft, despite her thinness. Too damn warm. Too damn good smelling. Too damn womanly. She didn't want to talk, which was fine with him. "The physician will return in an hour or two." Then he walked out and slammed the door.

* * *

By the fifth day of bedrest, life was miserable. The marquess was as surly as ever. And loneliness grew by the minute. She picked up another book that the physician had left to entertain herself.

The physician walked into the study.

"What do you want?" he snapped at the irritating doctor who was costing a pretty pence with all of these visits. Scribbling more notes in the ledgers, he clenched his teeth in irritation.

"Your wife - "

"She's _not_ my wife. She is my charge, George."

"She bears your name and wears your ring."

Grief sliced. Rage surged. Slamming his hands down on the desk, he shot his chair back to stand. "My wife is dead!"

The doctor didn't flinch. "Your first wife is dead. Your second is very much alive and growing you an heir."

"Jesus Christ! The moment she is declared sound, I'm washing my hands of her and that brat! I don't care if it's the middle of the night, I'm getting out of here and never want to see that pauper or her bastard again!"

Movement from the doorway behind the doctor. The woman stood there with her eyes wide as saucers and face sheet white.

Oh dear god. His blood ran ice cold as he froze in horror. How to even begin explaining it'd been said in a temper?

"I..." Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes searched the floor as if she didn't even know what to say. Then she turned and fled.

"Very nice, Mark." The doctor pulled on his gloves. "I told her she could get out of bed for five minutes. I am concerned if she has organ trouble from the starvation, and I want to run some tests. She wanted to come ask you for permission herself. I also convinced her to tell you something _very_ important." The doctor gave him a final glare, jammed on his top hat and left.

A pit formed in his stomach and he dropped in the chair. He didn't want to go after her...he was afraid to go after her. Tears that he caused would be hard to not make him fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He squared his shoulders - he was a marquess and she a poor woman to whom he'd made clear this wasn't a marriage. She could deal with it. Heaving himself up, he stormed upstairs. Honor won out.

He opened her bedchamber door to find her wearing the plainest cotton dress in her wardrobe and roughly twisting her hair into a bun. "What are you doing? You are _not_ free from bedrest," he ordered.

She wiped tears from her cheeks and then brushed past him without a word. When he turned in shock, she spun around, grabbed his hand and jammed something in it before disappearing into the hall.

He looked down. Her wedding band. Walking down the empty hall, he looked down the staircase. She hesitated at the front door. He calmly descended and stopped behind her. "Where are you going?" The tone didn't sound quite so harsh.

"Home." She sniffled. "Send the divorce papers and I'll return them signed."

"How will you eat without a divorce settlement?" It was a logical question.

She squared her slim shoulders. "That will no longer be your obligation to worry about now, will it?"

He winced at having his words thrown back at him. "The babe will die without proper nutrition. All I ask for is to be left alone once you're well."

She turned and looked up at him with tears shimmering. "All I ask for is to have one person in the world see me and not a scarlet letter," she whispered.

Something pushed to ask the question. Something made him have to know. "Whose babe is it?" he asked softly.

"I don't know." She whispered the words and looked down at her naked finger, with shame returning to her eyes.

Did she purposefully lie? A former companion? A mistress tossed aside? A seduced maid? A... He shut off the questions leaking into his head. It was better to not know.

"Forgive my words, Miss Hartwig. I said them in a moment of temper." The hard edge in his tone returned. "For the time being, you are in my charge and I do have say over your care. The doctor said you are still on bedrest. You will return to bed, and the physician will do the tests he recommended."

She looked up at him with those big eyes and her face crumpled.

"Yes, you'll have to stomach me for awhile longer," he growled when the knife he hadn't expected plunged into his chest. "Go to bed."

The moment she escaped upstairs, he escaped to the study for a drink. His hands shook as put the glass to his lips. The woman was entirely too dangerous.

When he returned that evening for a routine check, she didn't look at him, much less try to engage him in conversation like usual. That was fine with him, just fine. Sleep eluded him that night.

* * *

"Why is she so quiet? Is she ill?" he bit the doctor's head off the next day.

"Far from it, old boy. We had a lovely conversation today, and she even laughed. She has a quite lovely laugh; did you hear it?" The physician smiled.

She'd never come close to laughing for him. Not that it mattered. "Don't try to play matchmaker." He growled and ran a hand over his bleary eyes.

"You, however, look awful. Your conscience keeping you awake?" The old bastard grinned. "Or maybe the fact that you fell out of her good graces. Tis a wonder she left you in them for so long."

"I could care less about her graces. You take sick pleasure, old man."

He chuckled. "Do you want to know how her exam went?"

"Is she dying? Is the babe dying?"

"No."

"Then I don't care." He reached for his coffee cup to ease the blasted hangover.

"You don't want to know she's having twins?"

He knocked the coffee all over his ledgers and lap. "Dammit!" He shot up and wiped off his pantaloons. Then he looked at the man. "Are you serious?!"

"No." The doctor grinned.

"You damn ass." Pulling out a handkerchief he mopped the ledgers as best they could be saved.

"Her tests are fine. She even gained three pounds this week."

Stopping, he glared at the doctor. "Then why are you still here?"

The man sobered. "Mark, I think that it's extremely important to ask her about the father."

"I did and she won't tell me." He set aside the books to dry.

"She said she won't?"

"She said she doesn't know - same thing," he barked.

"Anna would be ashamed of you."

That froze him instantly. "What did you say?" he breathed, ready to explode.

"You heard me. Where is the gentleness that Anna knew? The compassion that made you risk everything to help Anna? You are cold and bitter to this poor, lost creature." He held up his hands. "I'm done watching you batter her. You can see to her from here."

"What?! You can't abandon a patient!" The words roared out in a panic.

Dr. Englewood turned at the door. "I'm not - I'm handing her over to a new doctor." Then he put on his top hat and closed the door.

He stormed into her room after dark when the doctor still hadn't come. "The doctor walked out, so I'm seeing to you here on out," he barked in a temper. "I can't hear your lungs through this."

The marquess was in a temper and started to unbutton her flannel, high-necked nightgown.

"No!" She clutched the neckline.

"Dammit, I'm not going to bed you," he snarled and reached for it again.

"Please, no!"

When she turned away, his finger tangled between the buttons. Her reaction startled and he jerked his hand away. And tore the nightgown, exposing her left breast.

She snatched up the sheets to cover herself, a purely terrified look on her face.

His eyes widened in horror. A scar as thick as his finger and just as long stretched over her heart. It was still pink - recently made and obviously not properly stitched. Fear and embarrassment flashed across her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she said quickly and clutched the sheets under her chin. "Please go."

"Were you in an accident?"

"No, please go," she begged.

"Does it pain you? It wasn't properly tended to." He frowned and started to sink onto the edge of the bed. But she tensed, so he remained standing.

"I didn't have money for a doctor."

"Does it pain you?" he repeated.

She shook her head.

A sickening feeling grew in his stomach. "I'll finish the exam in the morning. Do you feel alright for tonight?"

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

So he left. And again didn't sleep.

* * *

When he walked into her room the next morning, dark circles tinted under her eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

She startled at the sound of a voice, and her head snapped up from where she reclined against the pillows reading a book. The marquess didn't usually come this early, and he never inquired if she slept well. "Um, I had a lot on my mind." She set aside the book. "And you?"

"The same."

Awkward silence.

"May I speak frankly, my lord?"

He nodded.

Not a snarl or stomp to the door...she blinked. The man must be sleep deprived. That's why he wasn't shoving her away. "Do you plan on divorcing me or leaving me here? I need to figure out what I will do from here if we are divorcing." She looked at him expectantly.

"Answer me one question."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

He sat in Becky's empty chair beside the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees, truly holding her eyes for the first time. "Your scar - is it a knife wound?"

Swallowing hard, she braced herself and wrapped her arms around her middle. "A scar has little impact on anything."

"It does if it's related to the babe," he said gently, trying to win her trust. But he'd spooked the woman. Panic flashed in her eyes that he had stepped too close, and the moment of trust fled.

"A scar has nothing to do with pregnancy or checking the babe," she snapped. "Did you come for a reason, or is this a new way to poke fun at me?"

He blinked at her fierce temper. "Miss Hartwig," he said firmly, "You and your child are in my charge. I have a right to know how you came about a wound like that at the time of conception." A wild guess on the timing, but the way the blood drained from her face confirmed it.

She wanted to tell him. Anyone. She wanted to scream and cry, but once the walls crumbled, there'd be no going back. And he would disappear into the horizon soon enough without a look back. Opening up to him meant digging in the wounds only to be left with them gaping worse than now.

The woman wanted to tell someone who would listen. A dark secret had become too much for her to bear even though she wouldn't admit it. So he stepped out on a limb. "If you need the protection of my name, you have it, Tanya," he said softly and eased onto the edge of the bed as he held her frightened eyes. "I need you to tell me how I can help you and the babe."

Kindness. How long had it been since anyone had shown kindness or any concern? She swallowed hard. How long had it been since feeling as safe as it felt in his home? Near him? He didn't love, but at the very least he seemed to take honor seriously, which meant he'd do everything in his power to keep her and the babe from harm. He would be the first, if he believed her, to offer help. The months of pain, the fear, the suffering...it all bubbled up to overwhelming depths.

In that moment, he saw the trauma in her eyes. In that moment, assault suspicions were confirmed. She burst into gut-wrenching sobs and curled her knees to her chest as best she could with her belly in the way. In that moment, compassion flickered from deep inside that hadn't been felt in years. And he remembered what it was like to be needed and to protect. He set a hand on her arm.

When the sobs turned to hiccups, he kept his tone very calm and quiet. "Will you talk to me? I can't promise that I'll say or do the right thing, but I'll listen."

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "I don't know who he is."

"The father?"

She nodded and used the edge of the sheet to dry her eyes. "I know it's not what you want, but I wish to stay here. Just until I figure out what to do."

"I need to know why you're scared - what I'm sheltering you from."

Her lip quivered. "Papa was in the hospital again. I came home late and didn't see that the back door had been picked open."

The bile rose up.

"He was taking Mama's china, books - anything of value. I startled him as bad as he startled me." She swallowed hard and curled her arms up between her knees and chest like the memory frightened her. "He lunged at me with the knife and hit my chest. He...he did what he wanted with me and must've thought he'd killed me before he ran." She pulled down her collar and revealed a scar across the base of her throat - like a slash across the neck that had failed to kill. Then she pulled up the nightgown again.

"I had no money for a doctor, so I used old petticoats for bandages and did my best to keep away the worst of the infection." She glanced at him, as if uncertain whether he even believed her. He met her eyes in concern, and she continued. "When my belly swelled, Papa prayed for my condemned soul and whoring." Her face crumpled.

"On his deathbed, he said he was ashamed of me," she whispered and a tear fell. "No one wants a pauper and certainly not an outcast." She shrugged, having cried out all the tears. "I'm sorry that my father tricked you. I think he thought that making an honest woman of me would save my soul. I think that in a couple weeks I can be out of your hair, my lord." She searched his face that held no emotion, but his eyes weren't hard either.

"You are staying here," he growled. Then he got up and left.

He paced in the study, having suspected a rape last night after seeing the scar, her reaction, an anonymous father...but hope against all possibility had wished she'd been nothing but a discarded lover. The offender was likely not a threat anymore, but no sense in risking it.

This creature he'd tried so hard to hate was more innocent, more of a babe in the woods herself than he'd braced for. The urge to hold and comfort her during her story...god, the walls closed in more each day. This woman stirred long-dead emotions - emotions he didn't want. But he couldn't leave her alone in a house now either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: OK, I'll try to create less jumping between characters' points of view. Hopefully this chapter is better. Thanks for the feedback. I'm still thinking it adds a lot to the story to be able to see where they're each coming from during a scene, though ? I know this breaks conventional rules terribly. Some of the best writers in history broke conventional rules, so ya don't know til ya try! :)**

* * *

The marquess returned two hours later with food and a medical bag. He set the tray on the nightstand and turned. "I practiced medicine for several years. I think you're ready to come off of bedrest tomorrow, but I want to do a complete exam of the babe."

"You mean...?" Her face burned.

He gave a single nod and appeared calm and patient. "I have done dozens of these exams. I understand that our situation is unique, but right now we're simply physician and patient." The man spoke so matter of fact.

"You need to for the babe?"

He held up a hand. "It's important to make sure you don't have signs of going into labor. If so, being upright could put enough pressure to trigger childbirth. I'll be quick."

Swallowing down the anxiety and embarrassment, she sighed in defeat. "Seeing as you have legal say over my care, I don't really have a choice."

"I'm a physician right now. There is no one here who has legal say but you. I strongly advise the exam to make sure the babe and you are sound."

"If the babe needs it..." She released a shaky breath and glanced at him as nerves twisted her stomach.

While he washed and got ready, she wrung the sheet to release some of the stress. "Why are you being so nice right now?" The words blurted out.

He looked startled by the question and then kept working. "You have reason to fear men, and Dr. Englewood was able to ease that fear. You and I have an unfortunate situation, for which I regret right now for your sake. But that doesn't mean I want a wife."

She almost smiled. "I know, my lord."

But he looked at her seriously. "Ready?"

The smile died and trembles took over. She nodded and pushed aside all the blankets but the sheet. Then she laid down, crushing handfuls of the sheets in white-knuckled grips.

He held out a hand. When she looked at him in confusion, he held her eyes and spoke in a soft tone. "I only need one hand, Tanya."

Slipping her hand into his, her fingers wrapped around and clung to that tiny thread of safety with every fiber of her being. And he didn't let go.

* * *

Retching again, he gasped for air. His sides heaved and he finally rinsed his mouth. Leaning up on his elbows, he looked in the mirror.

The extent of her scarring was alarming. It too had been left to heal on its own and had healed poorly. It was a miracle that she had carried a child this long. Worry gnawed if she could even carry to full term. She may not even be able to fit a babe, and caesarian section carried so many risks. Walking out of the washroom, he paced in his bedchamber.

"My lord?"

He spun around at the sound of a soft voice.

She stood in the doorway in a robe and held her belly. "Is spotting alright?" Tears shimmered in her eyes.

Crossing the room quickly, he scooped her up. "Just a few spots?" He headed back to her room.

She nodded and her arms wrapped around his neck. "Three spots."

"It can be expected after an exam. It shouldn't be much and not after today."

A deep sigh of relief blew past her lips.

Goddammit, she smelled sweet. "Don't leave bed until tomorrow, like I told you," he scolded.

"I know. You were gone for fifteen minutes and I was scared..."

"You have a set of lungs, do you not?"

She blinked. "Um, yes."

"Then yell if you need me." He set her in the bed and stepped back. The wench needed to stop looking at him. "Do you need anything or may I go now?" he barked.

Her head bowed in shame and she shook it. "Forgive me. I won't bother you."

"Miss Hartwig?" He heaved a sigh.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Look at me when we're speaking," he commanded.

She looked up, her cheeks pink with humiliation.

"I am not civil company. If you can withstand my temper and tongue, this will be your home. If you or the babe need medical care, you are to notify me. Becky and Brigands will see to you otherwise."

Her brow furrowed. "You're not leaving tomorrow after I'm out of bed?"

"No." Then he walked out.

* * *

He waited in the dining room the next evening. "Did you tell her six o'clock, Brigands?"

The butler stood near the open door. "Yes, my lord."

Checking his pocket watch again, he sighed. Five minutes past six. He stood in irritation to fetch her when she walked in.

"Forgive me, my lord. Bedrest left me a bit lightheaded."

"You are better, or do you need to stay in bed?" He found himself pulling out the chair for her.

"I am better. Thank you." She sat.

The woman wore a sapphire blue gown made of satin. It draped slightly loose on her frame, except for her swollen breasts and belly. Her hair piled at the back of her head, pinned in a comb that she probably didn't know held real sapphires, and cascaded down her long neck in shiny, thick curls.

She looked up at him.

Great, he'd been staring. Clearing his throat, he sat in his chair at the head of the table on her left. "I will call the seamstress to make you new dresses," he ground the words out as Brigands filled their plates.

"Oh, you don't need to bother. I'm sure I can adjust them." Her cheeks glowed in embarrassment. The marquess had given a luxurious wardrobe, but her belly didn't fit much of anything.

"I didn't anticipate a woman with child," he said gruffly. "We are not poor - you'll have new dresses." Then he took a long drink of wine.

Again, the marquess was irritated with his obligation, and now he had to spend more funds on her. Her eyes fell to the table in guilt. When Brigands finished her plate, she said very softly, "Thank you."

The old man smiled. "You're welcome, my lady." Then he moved on to the marquess's plate.

Once Brigands left, he snapped, "Don't do that."

She looked at him in surprise. "Do what?"

"You are a marchioness. You do not hang your head."

Her cheeks burned in humiliation at the etiquette lesson. "My lord, I don't intend to ever be out anywhere. You don't need to worry that I'll embarrass you."

"Did I say you'll embarrass me?" The man barked the words and then started to eat. "In about three weeks, or when you're well, we must have a ball here to introduce you as my wife." He practically growled the words in disgust - maybe over having a wife or a dance. Or both.

"I don't know a thing about dancing." She bit her lip in distress.

He ate without looking at her. "In a week or so, I'll teach you." The man didn't look the least enthusiastic about it.

"My lord?"

Sitting back, he had an exasperated expression. "Do you eat or just flap your mouth?"

Closing her mouth, she bowed her head for a moment in prayer and then began to eat.

Another sigh of exasperation broke the silence. "Well? Ask your question."

She looked at him in confusion. "Oh. Um, I was going to ask if we are going to...well, pretend to be man and wife at the dance. I just want to make sure I understand what you want everyone to think."

He set her wedding ring on the table beside her. "Put it on. We are man and wife," he is a tightly.

That wasn't exactly the man and wife intimacy that she meant, but she didn't dare explain. Plenty of the wealthy lived separate lives, much less in separate beds.

After another bite of food, he gave a stern look. "You will call me 'Mark.' I will not go through years of marriage being called 'my lord' or 'marquess.' I have a name."

She stared. "You mean I'm staying here forever?"

"Is that not agreeable?" His eyes pierced as harsh as his words.

"No, I just thought you'd be gone soon."

"I already said I'm not leaving," he barked with a scowl. "You should not be alone in the house when who knows what kind of lunatic is on the loose," he grumbled. The man looked at his food when he mumbled, "Do not stuff handkerchiefs in your necklines either."

Her face flamed. THe necklines of the dresses scooped low, as was the fashion. She had tucked a handkerchief across the gap but apparently not well enough being he could tell. Odd that he had noticed, actually. "My lo - , er, um..."

"Mark, if you've forgotten," he replied dryly.

"No, I just need to get used to the informality." She flushed.

"Let me make one thing clear, Tanya. We will not consummate the marriage. I have no desire for little brats, and you have a babe to satisfy any womanly desire for a child. That is your child to raise - I have no interest in being a father. Our marriage is based on my word to your father. I will not give the illusion of having feelings for you, even in public. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mark," she agreed quietly.

"What were you saying? And take that handkerchief out, girl. You look ridiculous." He ate the last forkful of food on his plate.

She pushed the food around her plate. "I'm not comfortable having a low neckline, and the scars are not appealing during dinner."

"Scars are skin; don't be silly. You can have your new dresses made with high necklines. Now, take it out. If anyone says anything, they will answer to me."

So she swallowed hard and pulled it out.

Sneaking a glance at the scars, he kept a neutral face. They were glaringly obvious but didn't bother him in the least. But he didn't want to dwell on why he desired her to feel comfortable with her body. The woman looked up when he stood. "We shall eat together, but I won't just sit while you pick at your food. Eat up. Goodnight." He bowed and left.

On the way to the study to finish up work, he frowned. He was entirely too soft with the chit. He'd even preferred her company during dinner than to eat alone. This wouldn't do. He didn't like it one bit.

* * *

She got ready for bed, unsure what to think of her husband. He could likely be very tender, and his company was pleasant when not ripping heads off. She hung up her dress and walked over to the dresser in a chemise to get a nightgown. Pulling out the drawer, she gasped when it tilted forward too far. The solid wood drawer crashed down.

A loud crash sounded upstairs, followed by a female cry of pain. Tanya. She must've fallen and probably hurt herself or the baby. Shooting out of his chair, it toppled over as he darted for the door. He ran upstairs and burst into her room. "Tanya?" The dresser drawer lay broken on the floor with clothes spewed but no sign of her. "Tanya!" He rushed to her washroom.

He barged into the washroom. The woman knelt on the floor. "What happened?" He dropped to his knees beside her where she dabbed at a cut on her foot and tears ran down her cheeks. "The babe?" Without even waiting for an answer, he cupped her belly and felt for any damage.

"He's fine. The drawer fell on my foot." She brushed at her eyes as he lifted her onto the counter.

Then he bent down and inspected her foot. "Wiggle your toes."

"It hurts," she sniffled, feeling like a baby, and pointed to which toe.

He gently flexed it.

"Ow, don't," she whimpered.

"It's broken, but it appears to be a clean break. Let me fetch my bag." He carried her to bed and left.

When he returned and washed, he brought out a basin of water and soap. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took her foot in his lap, cleaning the small gash on top. The man worked without a word and was so gentle that it didn't hurt any worse.

After he bandaged the cut, he examined her toes again. "You have one broken toe and likely a cracked bone or two in the top of your foot. We'll wrap and ice it and see how it is in the morning. If those bones are broken, you'll need a cast." He glanced at her while he wrapped it tight. "You're certain the babe didn't get hurt?"

She nodded.

"Did the drawer break off?"

"I think I pulled it out too far."

"I'll fix it tomorrow." He fetched ice and then started to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry, I can do that." She started to get up, but his look stopped her. "I promise I'll fix it."

He kept picking up the clothes and the pieces of splintered wood. "I don't care about the goddamn drawer," he snarled. His heart still thundered from the fear that she'd been seriously hurt when he'd heard the crash. He didn't like it that there'd been such relief at finding only her foot injured.

A soft voice broke into his thoughts. "Mark?"

He froze. His heart twisted in a way that left him feeling warm and... He dropped the clothes in a heap and stormed out.

She watched in confusion as he stormed out. Perhaps it'd been his wife's dresser. He seemed terribly upset about it. Looking down at the forgotten pile, she limped over, got as comfortable as possible on the floor with her foot stretched out with ice and picked up the pieces of wood.

Becky came in minutes later with a cup. "My lady? His lordship wise to take this laudanum to help sleep through the pain. He said it's not enough to harm the babe."

She nodded. "Put it on the nightstand, please. I'll take it in a bit."

* * *

Before going to bed at midnight, his conscience won out in making sure the woman slept peacefully. Creaking the door open to peek, he frowned. Lantern light flickered, but the bed was empty. Stepping into the room, he spotted her to the right.

The woman had stretched her leg out on the floor and propped a pillow under her foot. A hammer, nails and other items lay scattered around her. She looked up and smiled at him for the first time. It was beautiful and warm and joyful. And so damn wonderful. His heart twisted painfully hard. For the first time in years, it beat again.

"I fixed it for you. See, Mark? You can't even really see that it broke." She positively beamed.

Her smile died when he stomped over and jammed the drawer back in place. Then he jerked her up under the arms and carried her to bed. Yanking up the covers, he jammed her in bed, careful of her foot. He leaned down with his face in hers. "Don't you ever disobey me again," he hissed. "I said to leave it." Flicking off the lamp, he left with slam of a door.

She'd meant to please the marquess. He gave her so much, and she wanted to repay him. The tears fell. They'd never be friends or even tolerated companions. She'd never be more than the obligation that he hated more each day, the wife who was the wrong one alive.

He leaned against her door and held his chest, blinking back tears. It hurt. The pain had been kept away for so long, but she kept picking at the scab. And it finally bled. Every heart beat could be felt now. And every beat was more painful than the last. Her soft weeping leaked through the door. Pushing himself upright, he walked away.

* * *

She sat at the table for breakfast and waited. Brigands had said Mark would come to her chamber to check her foot, but he never arrived. Maybe he'd forgotten. Or maybe he'd left her for the country estate.

Brigands walked past and stopped. "My lady, I meant for you to wait in bed. May I get something for you?"

"No, I thought perhaps the marquess was down here." She stood, leaning a hand on the table.

"No, my lady. He has a headache and will be along to see to you shortly. He doesn't want you on your feet."

"It feels much better this morning. I will go check on him."

The butler shook his head. "I think it would be wise to leave him alone for now."

"Or perhaps the problem is everyone has left him alone for far too long, Mr. Brigands." She limped to the door.

"My lady, please take the master's cane, at least. I'll fetch it."

He brought the cane and assisted up the stairs, leaving her at Mark's bedchamber door.

She knocked and slipped into the room. It took a moment to adjust to the dimness before spotting him on top of the bed. He laid on his back with a rag over his brow and rubbed his temples with his eyes closed. "Excuse me, Mark," she whispered.

He startled hard and grabbed his head with a curse.

"I'm sorry. Brigands said you're not well. Would you like me to do anything?"

He sat up gingerly, looking like an angry lion. "Did he not tell you to stay in bed? Did we not have this conversation last night about obeying what I tell you?"

Goodness, headaches made him surlier. "Mark, my foot feels better - only my toe hurts. You don't look well. My father suffered from migraines. I can - "

"Get out."

She blinked.

"You are not to come in here," he growled.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I only meant to help - "

"I said go."

Maybe it was time someone didn't go. She planted her feet. "No."

He rose to his feet - and substantial height. "I will not repeat myself."

"Neither will I. You hide from the world with a wall that is far too thick to penetrate. But your guard came down when I told you about my baby." She raised her chin to meet his enraged glare. "You want everyone to think you're a brute to hide your grief." Then her voice softened when he looked taken back by her words. "I'm not asking for love, but you are helping my babe and I. Let me help you too." She reached up and touched his cheek that was far softer than she expected a man's to be. "You don't have to be so fierce," she said softly.

He felt himself crumbling. The damn woman knew exactly where to strike while locking on with those hypnotic brown eyes. She didn't fear the brash side of him, unlike everyone else. Her hand slipped around his neck and kneaded the spot that made his head throb. It felt so good to let a woman nurture. To feel the softness of a woman's hands. When her other hand applied gentle pressure between his thumb and forefinger, the rhythmic pounding in his temples slowed.

"You need a hot compress over your eyes, not a cold one on your forehead, and it will go away," she whispered and stroked his aching temple.

His eyes drifted shut. The soothing strokes were so relaxing. He sighed and bowed his head to give her better access. His lips brushed against the top of her hair, wafting up the light scent of lavender. Heat pooled in desire.

His eyes shot open and he stumbled back a step, slamming his calves against the bed. "Get out!"

The chit startled and searched his face. "I'm not look to take your wife's place - "

Scooping her up, he deposited her in the hall and slammed and locked the door.

* * *

She waited in her room. Brigands brought breakfast. Then lunch and laudanum. Then dinner. The marquess still hadn't emerged from his room.

At nine o'clock, a knock came at her door. Mark entered without a word and set his bag on the bed. She remained silent while he checked her foot and the babe.

"Your toe seeks to be the only broken bone but is set fine. You don't need a cast. The babe is sound." Then he picked up his bag to go without once meeting her eyes.

"Mark?" She sat up.

He stopped but didn't turn.

"I haven't thanked you for taking us in. You've been generous when others have been cruel. If there's anything I can do - "

"Leave me in peace. I will no longer join you for meals. You may go anywhere in the house, except my study, bedchamber and the room at the end of the hall that is locked." His voice came out so flat and...sad.

"Fair enough."

He took another step.

But it couldn't leave off with this tension. He seemed to hurt so deep. "Are you feeling better?"

He stopped. "Goodnight," he growled and left.

It didn't seem like him to be so subdued. He wouldn't stay long enough to hear her out, so she'd give him a letter.

* * *

He returned to his chambers after midnight, so exhausted from the day that he only wanted to sleep. One step into the room ended that thought. Something crunched underfoot. An envelope. Picking it up, he frowned at the feminine scrawl of his name on the front. Who...? Then it dawned. "What the hell?!" Yanking off his shirt and tossing it aside, he ripped open the envelope with excessive force and sat on the bed.

 _Dear Mark,_

 _I wish to say this in person, but alas, you seem to always vanish. You want nothing to do with the babe or I, but you have everything to do with us - you saved us from starvation. It is with gratitude that I say this, not because I harbor any fantasy of love: I care for you as a friend, as the man who has nursed us back to health._

 _Your home is the first I've felt safe in. You make me feel protected, which is a feeling I can never tell you how much is worth to me. I don't wake up screaming anymore. I don't feel dirty and unworthy of human compassion as much as I used to._

 _I understand that this is a marriage of nothing but a promise to an old man. Perhaps one day we could be companionable, if you do choose to remain under the same roof._

 _Please know that I have no intention of taking your wife's place. I assume by how upset you were that it was your wife's dresser that I broke. I didn't realize that and didn't mean to damage it. Becky informed me of the carpenter in town. If it is agreeable, I will take the drawer to him to repair the crack down the front and the dent in the corner. I've cost you enough money; you needn't concern yourself with the expense..._

He crumpled the letter and dropped it on the floor without finishing it, storming straight for her room.

Standing before the dresser mirror with her braid in hand and scissors in the other, she drew a deep breath. "It's only hair," she promised her reflection. The braid was long, silky and the locks curled just enough to look like she spent hours each day on her hair. Closing her eyes, she lifted the scissors.

"What the hell are you doing?!" a deep voice boomed.

With a squeak of surprise, her eyes flew open and the scissors clattered to the floor. She spun around.

He stomped over and snatched the scissors. "What are you doing?" The man could've breathed fire.

"Cutting my hair," she squeaked.

"I see that. Why?" he snapped.

She raised her chin. "Because it's _my_ hair."

"Answer." He set his hands on his hips.

"Because..." She squared her shoulders.

"Where are you getting funds for the dresser?" The man growled.

"I'm not getting it illegally."

His jaw flexed in anger and he stepped forward, taking the braid in his hand. "Hair like this pays a pretty penny to a carpenter, doesn't?" He asked the question lightly.

She bit her lip.

"Do not cut your hair off, woman," he sneered.

"It's _my_ hair."

He released it. "Legally you're mine, so technically _that's_ mine too." The man pointed at the braid. "I forbid you to cut it. And leave the drawer alone." He spun on his heel to leave.

"You _forbid_ it?" She gaped.

"Yes," he threw over his shoulder.

"Give me back the scissors!"

"No." He disappeared around the corner.

She charged after him and rounded smack into a hard, warm, bare chest. Her mouth fell open in a soft gasp as he caught her elbow to steady her. Who knew a man could be so beautiful? His muscles sculpted like hills and valleys as hard as rock and warm as the summer breeze. A pleasant dusting of hair on his chest trickled down and then reappeared under his naval to sweep under... Her eyes ripped up to his face in embarrassment. "You're shirtless."

"And you're astute," he replied dryly.

Oh heaven, she gawked. Closing her mouth, she swallowed hard. Her cheeks burned.

"If I find your hair gone, I will...I will lock you in your room." He gave a firm nod.

Her heart beat fast and a strange sensation of heat pooling between her legs made her knees weak. He was raw, pure male, unlike anything she'd ever seen. So magnificent and beautiful. Reaching out, she gave a light stroke over the hard plane of his chest. Solid, thick muscle. "Oh my," she breathed.

He lept back from the woman upon the contact. Her touch felt feather soft and delicate, leaving odd feelings in her wake - rugged, strong, masculine and...protective. She awoke something inside that had been long dead. And it scared him. A bolt of lightening shot through, heightening every sense. A throbbing need to make love to her pulsed, leaving him aroused and empty all at once.

A dark look swept over the marquess's face. She had overstepped the bounds. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "

"Do not for a second think that we will have anything more than a marriage of honor," he hissed.

She blinked and he spun around. She stared after him as he marched down the hall. How perfectly cruel God could be to give a celibate husband who looked like that.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, he didn't show up for meals and Dr. Englewood resumed the exams. She wasn't left wanting for entertainment - Mark's library filled an entire room. A harp, pianoforte and fiddle also sat in the corner of a room so massive and filled with chandeliers that it must be a ballroom. She couldn't play but it was fun trying. Brigands had presented her with some paints from Mark to 'keep out of trouble,' but she could no better paint than ready poetry. It didn't take long to realize that the marquess was far more intelligent than she. And not only was he an avid reader of Shakespeare, if the loose bindings on books were any indication, but he apparently spoke several languages based on well-used books that seemed to be medical texts.

A few days later, she turned to Brigands. "Where is the marquess? It's like he disappeared."

He and Becky didn't miss a beat eating their food in the servants' kitchen where she'd begun to dine with them for company. "Working," Becky replied.

She blinked. "Working?"

Brigands nodded. "Money doesn't grow on trees."

"I assumed he inherited it."

"Oh, he did, miss," Becky added eagerly. "When his parents died after Marchioness Anna, he came into some deep money. But the master is a stubborn one and earns his own keep, he does."

"Doing what?" Mark has said he'd once practiced medicine, as if not anymore.

"Why, my lady, he is - "

"Ahem." A deep voice interrupted.

She jumped as hard as Brigands and Becky. Mark stood in the doorway.

"Gossip does not become you, Becky," he grunted. Then his eyes shifted to her with a look of irritation. "Why are you eating in here?"

"It's lonely eating alone. Are you home for the day?" She smiled and popped a piece of chicken in her mouth. "Come eat with us."

"I'm obligated to discuss something with you." The man didn't move.

He obviously wanted to talk in private, so she got up. Even though he didn't offer his arm, she took it. But his look made her let go. The man walked on to his study, not even bothering to see if she followed. But of course he wouldn't check - he was a marquess and Society dictated that he be obeyed. She stopped behind him when he rounded his desk and sat in the chair.

He sat and looked up at the chair across the desk from him. The man growled and moved to get up, as if he thought she'd gotten lost between the kitchen and study. She smiled. What a silly man. Setting her hands on his broad shoulders, she pushed him down to sit. He startled.

She gave a hard massage to those thick muscles. "My goodness, you carry all of your stress right here. No wonder why you're cranky - you must hurt." She frowned. He was a bit too large to massage properly, but his rock-hard manliness under her hands was enjoyable all the same.

He grunted in response and his eyes drifted shut as she massaged the base of his neck. The poor man must be worn out and sore. As she moved down to his shoulders, his head drifted back and cradled on her chest. She smiled at the homely scene.

In the blink of an eye, she fell against his back. The man grabbed her arm to catch her. Then she was looking at him from across the desk.

"I have to be gone for four days," he snapped and headed for the door.

"That's it?" What on earth had just happened? And where was he going? When?

He turned, his expression aloof. "I'm sorry, I don't have any good news about my demise."

The words came out so blaze that they took a moment to sink in. She frowned. "I mean you're leaving and I don't get to know when or why?"

"In the morning and no." He turned.

"Where do you work?" That stopped him in his tracks. "I'm not so uneducated that I don't know you hold a hard position."

He turned slowly with a cold look. "We are not man and wife. My affairs do not concern you." The words growled out in a low rumble. "You have food, clothes, shelter and an allowance. And that will be all you know."

She frowned and studied him. "You're certainly not a lawyer for you argue poorly."

His mouth actually fell open.

Tapping her chin, she eyed his always formal attire. "I'd wager some kind of businessman who is high in the company. You have dozens of ledgers, so perhaps in the trade. But, you don't travel enough for that..."

The man gawked as she approached.

Taking his right hand, she cocked her head. Perfectly clean and neat - not even ink stains. "Hm." Then she took his left that had a couple small ink stains. She smiled up at him. "You're left-handed."

He jerked it away.

"A secret?" She cracked a smile. "Come now, no one would mistake you for not being intelligent." Schools forced children to write with the right hand because left was considered for the dumb. "By the foreign language medical books and your Shakespeare and musical inclinations, I'd say you're exceptionally intelligent." Then she took his arm and looked at the cufflink. "A man of Parliament, of course." She smiled and let go of him. "Good - they need a man with a heart, like you." Her finger traced a small scar on his chin, taking advantage of his dumbfounded state to be close to him. "I'd say you're an accountant of sorts."

"You...it...Englewood will see to you while I'm away!" The poor man practically stuttered and snapped, as if never having been flabbergasted before and not knowing how to recover.

She smiled. "I'm sure you'll run for your freedom before I wake up tomorrow, Mark." Raising onto her toes, she set her hands on his chest and brushed a soft kiss over his lips. "Come home safe." Then she walked out, a glance over her shoulder revealing him still standing there with a dumbfounded expression as he watched her leave.

* * *

Of course he had left by the time she woke up and had ordered Brigands and Becky to not divulge his personal life. That left the only option for learning more about her husband - snooping.

It didn't take long to find a letter in his desk addressed to Mr. Mark Debonairo, president of London Bank of England.

* * *

He returned Friday afternoon. An unfamiliar carriage parked in the drive. When he entered the house, Brigands took his things. "Who is here."

"The tutor, my lord."

"Tutor?" His eyebrows shot up.

Brigands kept a straight, professional face. "My lady hired herself a tutor, sir. She wanted to...'not embarrass you by having a dumb wife,' she says. So she took on a tutor with her allowance. I think you need a refund."

He frowned at the man. "A refund?"

"The marchioness has done more educating than learning, my lord."

"Who did she hire?" Surely a poor, uneducated woman couldn't be wearing out a tutor.

"A professor of mathematics and a professor of medicine."

Good god, professors?! "Two of them?!"

"No, sir. Four."

His jaw dropped. "Four?!"

Brigands smiled slightly. "She is smart as a whip, sir. She devours books and has even taken to reading the dictionary. You have your hands full, sir."

A man walked out of the library looking dazed.

Tanya trotted after him. "But the war ended in 1812 after - "

"Yes, yes, alright." The tutor took his things that Brigands had at the ready and looked at him. "Stop giving her books," he groaned and walked out.

She grinned and ran toward him, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. "You're home!" Then she grabbed his hand and dragged him through the foyer. "You must be tired. Come, I'll make you some mulled wine, and you can rest by the fire. How was your trip? Oh, you'll probably growl and tell me it's none of my business. Well, I have learned so much. I've read six textbooks while you were away. I discovered I don't like History. I can speak a little Latin and French and..."

His head spun from the chatter by the time she plopped him in a chair. She had his shoes off and a glass in his hand within seconds. Then she started rubbing his shoulders without taking a breath in her chatter.

"Heavens, I don't know how you don't have terrible backaches, Mark. You are so tight."

He was still trying to wrap his head around everything when she started pulling off his suitcoat. "Miss Hartwig!"

She just smiled and kept working it down his arms. "My name is Tanya. Come, you have a pinched look as if you don't feel well. Let me get rid of your headache."

" _You_ are my headache," he snapped.

She laughed. "You are a grumpy old bear." The suitcoat finally slipped off.

"I am not old," he huffed.

"You are, what, eight and thirty? Forty?"

"Four and thirty," he snapped and sat back in the chair.

A smile tugged. "You are nearly five years older than I. I think it qualifies for my use of old." Pecking a kiss on his cheek, she started rubbing his shoulders again.

"Get your hands off!"

She held him firm in the chair. "No. I know you hurt. You'll get a migraine if you don't be a good man and hold still."

Heaving a sigh that portrayed his irritation, he stayed. The trip and last few days had been too tiring to argue with the woman. It did feel good to not have his shoulders locked tight. And the headache already began to ease off. "Just for a moment," he grumbled. "I have work to do and can't afford a migraine."

"Yes, my lord." A smile leaked through in her voice. "How was your trip? Were you at the bank in London?"

He blinked. "Why would I be there?"

"Because you run it." The chit actually giggled.

Her giggle was like the twinkling of little fairies, so adorable and sweet, goddammit. Forcing a scowl, he twisted in the chair to look up at her. "Snooping, Miss Hartwig?"

She pecked a kiss on his cheek, smiling like life could not be grander.

He stared in surprise. God bless it, the damn woman left him speechless! Again! He opened his mouth to give a scathing set down.

"I did snoop, and it's Tanya. You must be very intelligent to run a bank so large. Where is it that you work daily here?"

"None of your business!"

"I'm bound to find out where my husband works, so just tell me." She folded her hands behind her back and beamed a smile.

The wounds peeled back a little more. He wasn't a husband anymore. He didn't want a wife. Shooting up, he spun on her. "We are two people living in the same house," he hissed, his eyes narrowing as the smile melted from her face. "We are _not_ man and wife, understood?!" Snatching his suitcoat, he stormed for the door.

"You give me so much, Mark. I only wish to give you something, even if only to fetch you a drink at the end of the day," she said softly.

The hurt in her voice pulled at his heart. She had wormed her way in too close - so close that each beat of his heart began to hurt again. He spun around to scream to leave him the hell alone.

"I sort of missed not having you here growling at me."

The words died on his lips. No one had missed him in a very long time. He'd missed her annoying prodding in London. He'd even found himself browsing for a little trinket for her, thankfully catching himself at it and storming out of the shop.

She gave a hesitant smile, those brown eyes looking up at him with so much damn trust. "I know you don't want a wife. I just...I wish we could converse together at meals and sit and talk about the day before the fire at night. You have a kind heart under the barking and growling. I don't wish to see you in such pain."

He swallowed hard at a raw nerve struck. Forcing down the pain, he clenched his teeth. She wanted what he could no longer give. "Get these female illusions out of your head," he hissed. And left her standing alone by an empty chair.

Storming up the steps to his room for some peace to lick his wounds, he tore off the neckcloth. Why had he missed her? The chit was nothing but a chattering weight around his neck. He dropped onto the bed to lie down and get rid of the blasted headache that had returned. The door opened and slammed shut.

"I don't know why I missed your stupid old carcass, but I did!" She marched across the room. "You can't love a ghost, Mark! Stop pushing everyone away and making yourself miserable!"

How dare she come in and tell him to stop loving Anna! He shot up. "I - !"

She grabbed his shirtfront and jerked him down, crushing his mouth with a kiss.

He didn't move from the shock. And then it started from his lips and swept through his whole body - a warm tingling that melted the ice.

The man melted in her arms. She'd expected a fight, but he utterly melted. The poor man ached for release from his pain. The kiss softened and his lips parted . His hot tongue slipped into her mouth, the kiss far more delicate and gentle than should've been possible from him. A fire inside ignited, but she let him come to her. His arms slowly wrapped around to hold her gently against him, his arousal pressed against her hip. He was intoxicating and her heart soared.

He slowly broke the kiss and looked down at her.

Her knees were weak as she looked up at him, still dazed. Then she blinked in confusion - tears shimmered in his eyes.

"Leave me," he whispered in a gravelly voice and his arms fell from around her. "Stop torturing me."

Her breath hitched and eyes widened. "I only meant to comfort you. I don't understand."

"Leave me!" he roared.

She startled and searched his face in confusion.

A tear fell from his lashes. "Get out! Get out!"

She fled.

* * *

"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"

She looked up at Dr. Englewood in amazement the next day in her room. "Truly?"

"Truly." He smiled. "Have you felt definite movement yet?"

"I think so. I felt a twinge here." She pointed to her lower belly.

"More likely growing pains there." He set the stethoscope on her belly and then gave her the other end.

Her brow furrowed. "I just hear a drumming."

"That's the baby's heartbeat." He smiled.

"Ohh," she breathed in awe and her eyes widened. "Can you feel him?"

"Perhaps. He's still small, but we can see if we can tell his head at least. Here - "

Mark opened her door. "Did I leave - " He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Dr. Englewood examining the baby.

"Mark!" The older man grinned. "Do you want to show her how the baby is lying?"

"No."

The doctor frowned. "Come now. You were a top notch physician. Show the girl your baby."

"It's not mine," he growled and stayed planted.

"The child bears your name. Come show your wife your child."

Mark looked furious, and she was the source. "Don't provoke him. The child isn't his and won't bear his name. Let him be." Sitting up, she pulled down her chemise. When she looked up, both men stared at her. "Hm?"

"A word," he growled.

Dr. Englewood stepped out. Mark remained at the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "What name do you think you're giving him?" he drawled.

Her eyebrows rose. "My maiden name. You said you don't desire any children, so I thought - "

"You thought wrong," he snapped. "If you didn't want to accept this marriage, you should have spoken up. Don't make a mockery of me by refusing my name when you live in my house and wear my ring."

She smiled. "Are you being possessive?"

He scowled. "I'm keeping us from being a source of gossip."

"I think you ruined that when you wed a pregnant woman."

"No one but the doctor and staff know it's not mine," he growled.

She blinked. "You intend to present him as yours? Why?"

His eyes burned. "Did I not give you my name? Don't be stupid." Then he turned and opened the door.

"Mark?" She scurried from bed to block his path. "I didn't mean to insult you." Taking his arm that he didn't offer, she smiled. "Are you done with work today? We could go for a walk or have a picnic."

But the man shrugged her off. "I have too much work," he snapped and left.

* * *

It was hard to focus on the ledgers. Thoughts kept wandering to the female roaming his house. He sneered at the womanly touches she'd made over the past two weeks - fresh flowers, his books and things now orderly, a glass of mulled wine waiting for him by the fire in the library every evening. The door opened and the creature in question trotted in with a tray, to his irritation.

"I made you a snack. You've been in here all day." She smiled and set the tray of cookies and glass of milk on top of his books.

He cocked an eyebrow, glaring up at her from beneath his brow. "What am I, five?"

"Everyone likes cookies and milk." She sat in the chair across the desk, made herself comfortable and took a cookie.

"I take it you're staying," he retorted dryly.

"You shouldn't have cookies alone." Her smile beamed as if this was the greatest thing in the world. "Drink your milk - a man your age gets frail bones."

"What?!" He sputtered. "I'll have you know that men are at their physical peak at my age."

"Oh." She frowned. "So you're not going to look like that next year? Hm. Maybe I should've married someone not in his prime but approaching it."

His mouth fell open.

She giggled and got up to round his desk. Before he knew what the chit was about, she plopped herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am teasing you. You are in fine shape, and I suspect you will always be because you're so anal retentive."

Again, speechless.

"I'm teasing again." She rested her head on his chest and laughed softly. "You need to relax. I think you work too much and need more fun in your life."

His heart ached - in a good way - having her curled up in his lap. But he didn't like it. The wench chatted away. He kept his hands clutching the armrests as he battled emotions. Grief and pain grew so strong that he couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't think.

When she looked up at Mark, her smile faded. He was lost in some memory - a sad one if his face portrayed anything. She touched his cheek and his eyes, void of all emotion but grief, turned to her. "You'll be happy again someday," she whispered. The poor man looked to be on the verge of heartbreak.

A kick. She gasped and snatched his hand off the armrest, pressing it to the baby. "Mark," she breathed and searched his eyes in wonder, "the baby is kicking. Do you feel it?" She pressed her hand over his, wanting him to be part of this moment.

His face crumpled.

"Don't you feel him?" She frowned in confusion. "Right here. He's still kicking." Pressing both hands over his, she held his eyes.

He set her to her feet and stood. "I did," he whispered and left her alone.

* * *

Escaping to his bedchamber, he shut the door and walked toward the bed but fell to his knees as the emotions slammed with impossible force. The grief and pain hit with such force it hurt to breathe.

Bowing his head and leaning a hand on the floor, he sniffled as the tears came. Tears that had been shoved and jammed into a dark corner box but refused to be locked up anymore because Tanya had opened Pandora's box. Tanya. Oh god, the moment she'd taken his hand and set it on her belly to feel the baby move... She'd made him part of that the first goddamn time she'd felt the baby. It'd been so beautiful, so intimate, so perfect. But not a moment intended for him. She'd find someone one day who would steal her heart and be capable of loving her in return. And when she'd ask for her freedom, he'd grant it and watch her leave him behind forever.

"It's alright to let it hurt." A small hand touched his back.

"Jesus," he whispered in humiliation and pushed himself to his feet while wiping the tears away.

She stood, slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. "It's alright. Whomever said men shouldn't cry is stupid. I won't tell anyone. When it hurts, it just needs to be allowed to hurt."

She held in that gentle way that only a woman could, the cruel woman stripping the last piece of wall down. His arms slowly wrapped around in desperate need for human contact and compassion. It hurt so much, as if his heart lay dying at his feet. His head screamed to run and save himself before she could hurt him like Anna had. Everyone had let his growls and roars scare them away, except for this slip of a woman. She faced him over and over again, refusing to run.

"I know you'll have a fit and rant and punish me by ignoring me for saying this, but I care about you."

That road was too dangerous for both of them. He dropped his arms.

"Why must you suffer alone?" She looked hurt by the rejection but didn't let go.

"I promised you a home, food and my name - nothing more or less," he snarled.

"And what is in it for you?" She looked up at him with those big eyes.

Nothing. He looked away. "A guilt-free conscience."

She pulled away.

My god, how that simple action ripped out his heart.

"You'll always resent the babe and I, won't you?"

He glanced at her. His words had cut, but she would be better off this way.

She nodded when he didn't answer. "Alright, marquess. You shall have your wish for a marriage of convenience. I won't trouble you anymore," she whispered with downcast eyes.

Self-preservation and knowing he had to protect her from himself kept him from going after her.

* * *

It was like she had left, not seeing or hearing her for a week. At night he'd peek in her room to assure himself she hadn't left. It wasn't because of missing her...at least not more than once or twice every hour.

"Are the tutors tired of her?" He gave a bitter smirk one afternoon after not hearing visitors all week.

"No, my lord," Brigands answered. "She terminated their services. Said there was no point in wasting your money when you won't know a difference being she is to stay out of your way, sir."

He glared from his desk at the man. "Watch your tongue."

"Yes, my lord."

Silence.

His nerves frayed more every day. "Did she hire them to educate herself for me?" he gave in and asked.

"That's what I said, yes, my lord." An undertone of displeasure leaked in.

Slamming his quill down on the ledgers, he glared at Brigands. "Stop with the attitude."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"Haven't you been?" he asked dryly.

"She's sad, my lord. She has no one to talk to - "

"Then have her visit neighbors," he snapped. Dammit, it wasn't like he had fun moping about the house.

"The gossip has followed her to town, sir. She has no friends here."

"Have her relatives come." A pounding from an impending headache started in his temple.

"She is an orphan without any relatives."

"Then what do you want me to do?!"

"Nothing, sir. She will learn how to get alone like you," Brigands answered quietly.

He rose. "Brigands, you are testing my patience. You favor the wench, you be her friend."

"She is a lovely woman. Perhaps it's better that you continue to ignore her."

His temper shot through the roof. "One more word and you're out the door," he hissed.

But Brigands raised his chin. "I have served this family for sixty years. Your father would be ashamed. Mistress Anna would be ashamed. You drag the girl here and condemn her to a lifetime imprisoned in this house. A spirit like hers won't last long in that. IF this keeps up, you don't have to worry about firing me."

"You're done for the day!" His body shook with rage.

She trotted downstairs and saw Brigands at the front door putting on his coat. "Are you going to the market? I'll come - we can make a trip of it in the fresh Fall air."

"No, home, my lady." Unlike usual, he didn't smile or meet her eyes.

She blinked. "Home?"

He put on his hat. "I overstepped my bounds. The marquess has sent me home for the day."

The dear man remained so composed and humble, despite the humiliation. It meant he wouldn't be paid for the day either. "What happened? What could you have possibly said, Brigands? You're so sweet."

A slight smile touched his lips. "Thank you, my lady. Do not fret. A day won't break me."

Mark walked out of the study.

"Why are you suspending his pay?!"

A cold look served as his answer.

She turned to Brigands and caught his hand on the doorknob. "It's because of me, isn't it? Oh, you should not jeopardize your job," she said sadly.

"You did not have any fault, my lady," he said gently and bowed, with a kiss over the back of her knuckles in a sign of respect far beyond her poor breeding.

"You should not cross him so," she whispered. "No one has ever stood up for me." Tears threatened.

"It was my honor, my lady," he said softly. "Do not forget your crackers tonight."

"I will," she smiled that he remembered even though he should be worrying about himself. She opened the door for him. "Be careful going home. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, my lady. Stay inside, No walks - it looks like snow."

She slipped coins into his hand that she'd intended to give to Cook to pick up more peppermint tea. "You need it for your wife," she whispered.

He swallowed hard. "God bless you," he whispered and then left.

Closing the door, she spun on Mark. "Shame on you!"

The man looked surprised.

"His wife is dying and you send him home without money to get her medicine for tonight?! You are cruel."

"Dying?" he repeated dumbly.

"For the past two months. But I'm sure Brigands understands you're too selfish to ask how his family is. Ever." Turning on her heel, she headed for the stairs.

His footsteps followed hot on her heels. "And what is this about crackers?"

"Ha! As if you care." She threw the words over her shoulder.

At the landing, he grabbed her arm and blocked her path. "Answer me."

Jerking her arm free, she glared at him. "I get heartburn from the baby after dinner, master," she spat and marched down the hall.

"Don't take that tone with me," he warned and stomped after her.

Whirling around, she tilted her chin back to meet his glare. "Or what? You'll beat me?"

"I have no stomach for hitting a woman," he snarled.

"Well, I'm sooo grateful." The sarcasm dripped from the words.

"Watch your mouth," he snapped.

"No! It's about time someone didn't watch their mouth and pulled your head out of your ass!"

His jaw dropped. "You sassy wench! I - "

"You're so cruel with your words to keep everyone away! I'm not as stupid as I apparently look. I know you used to be a reknowned physician and married your childhood sweetheart. You used to be the couple of the balls. And then she got sick and you moved here to learn about a new medicine, but she died first. Then you stopped practicing and holed up here like a monk. You keep the world out. Six years, Mark. She's been dead for six years and so have you! _I_ can't live like this. IF you want to live like the world doesn't exist, I want to live apart!"

Grief from Anna overwhelmed and profound hurt that Tanya wanted to leave him. Anger bubbled up and surged and overflowed. "Don't you dare presume to tell me how I should live," he hissed. "You lost a drunken father - I lost the woman I loved. There is no comparison."

"Maybe not," she said softly in defeat. "But I have been alone most of my life. I don't know what you think solitude will save you from." Tears welled. "You're screaming to get in; I'm screaming to get out," she said sadly. "You keep me here a prisoner - "

"I do not," he snorted.

"You know I can't go far from the house until the babe proves to be stronger. You keep everyone away with your growls and refuse to speak to me. The gossip has reached here. Becky is afraid of what working here will do to her reputation. Brigands is my only friend but it is costing him his job. What am I to assume but you intend to keep me locked up here like a prisoner?"

She struck too close, too fast, digging in old wounds that he didn't realize she knew existed. The woman knew how to shatter his walls and let the pain loose.

"Is this how you treated Anna?" she asked softly.

Something inside snapped. He snatched her by the arm and marched her down the hall. "You want to be a prisoner?!" He shoved her into her room, and she spun to face him in horror. "Now, you're a prisoner." He slammed the door shut and locked it, seeing only red rage.

"Mark!" she cried and jiggled the doorknob.

He turned and charged down the hall to find Becky watching in horror. "Go!" he snarled.

Tanya beat on the door and cried for help. "Mark, please!"

"The mistress," Becky stuttered.

"Go!" he roared.

Becky ran and he stormed into his room.

When he got to his chambers, his temper cooled. He leaned against the door and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Anna, what have I done?" he whispered. It had been a moment of unforgivable insanity, but he didn't trust himself to go back yet. Just a few minutes to calm down before going back and begging for forgiveness. Sinking to the ground, he prayed for guidance.

She cried and pounded on the door for several minutes before sinking to the floor in despair. Her belly cramped harder. So she did the only thing she knew and laid down on the bed and prayed. She wept as her skirt stained red with blood and her cries fell on deaf ears.


	6. Chapter 6

Pushing himself up after a few minutes, he opened the door and walked to her room. Silence. Guilt mounted tenfold with each step. How to even start to apologize for being such a monster? He turned the key in the lock. Soft weeping floated through the door. Pushing it open, he stepped in. "I'm so sorry - " He froze, his heart crashing to the floor. Blood soaked her skirts where she curled up on the bed. He tore from the room for his bag.

Running back in, he washed. "How long?" His hands had never shaken this hard.

"Since you locked the door," she sobbed.

He swore and dug out tools. "Cramping?"

She nodded.

* * *

By nightfall, the babe finally calmed. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat to keep watch all night. She hadn't spoken to him for hours, except to answer questions about the babe. She kept her head turned away and her hands over the soft swell of her belly. He didn't even know how to begin.

"Tanya?" he spoke softly. When she didn't turn her head, he leaned his elbows on his knees and fidgeted with his fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say the things I did and upset you. For what it's worth, I've never lost my temper like that before. It was terribly wrong of me to lock you in here. I don't even know what I was thinking." He ran a hand over his face and swallowed down the bile. "It didn't occur to me that you truly needed help." He set his hand over hers on her belly, but she pulled away. "I promise I will do everything humanly possible to make sure the babe is alright. Never will I lock you in a room again." His voice grew thick.

She rolled away and her shoulders silently shook.

It took a moment to realize she wept. "Tanya," he begged and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. "Please, I didn't dream this would happen."

"You got your wish," she hiccuped. "After the babe dies, I want a divorce."

Tears burned behind his eyes. "I won't let the baby die," he said softly. Suddenly, his heart hurt.

"Just let him go. The whole pregnancy would be a losing battle. I want him to go in peace. And I don't want you here for it." Her chest heaved with the sobs.

"If it gets that serious, I'll send for the doctor to deliver and I'll be right here with you - "

"No," she wept. "Go. I just want you to go."

He swallowed hard. "You shouldn't be alone, Tanya. It's not even safe."

"Then send Becky. Send anyone else."

His lips pressed together to keep from quivering. "I'll help you. I want to be here with you - "

She burst into gut-wrenching sobs. "I'm begging you to go. You heartless beast, you have to stay and watch the 'bastard' die?"

Tears dropped into his lap. "I want to be here to help you," he croaked.

She flung onto her back to look at him. Never had he seen so much despair in eyes as in hers. "No. This time I won't soothe your guilty conscience! Get out!"

He searched her face, not even sure what to say.

"Go!"

His head said to run - she wanted to leave him. He'd wanted this in the beginning. But his heart spoke for the first time in years. And it said to stay, no matter how much it might hurt in the end. Slowly, he eased himself onto the bed so as not to jostle her. Holding her confused eyes, he scooped her into his lap and wrapped a blanket around her. Tucking her head under his chin, he whispered, "We aren't going to lose the baby, Tanya." He held tight as she cried herself to sleep.

He didn't move all night, keeping the stethoscope pressed to her belly. It took until after three o'clock in the morning to admit the only other time he'd been this scared was when Anna drew her last breaths in his arms. "Don't leave me, Tanya," he whispered and laid his cheek on top of her head.

* * *

The doctor came mid-morning. "What the hell is going on?" He took in the syringe wrapped to her arm and medical supplies scattered around and hurried over as Mark listened to her belly again.

"I upset her yesterday, and she bled and cramped. The cramping stopped over twelve hours ago, but the bleeding is sporadic." His eyes didn't move from where he returned to the syringe.

"Why do you have a morphine syringe wrapped to her arm?" The doctor glanced at her like he thought Mark was mad.

"It's not morphine - I'm just using a morphine syringe because the needle is finer. I'm giving frequent doses of saline because it seems to keep the babe stable. I'm not stabbing her every fifteen minutes." He pushed the plunger a little bit more and stopped again. Then he noted the time on a piece of paper. This damn treatment was purely experimental because nothing else seemed to settle the bleeding. No textbook or journal offered solutions either.

"When did you last sleep? You look awful and need to rest to think straight." The doctor frowned.

Ever so gently, he palpated the baby. "I'll sleep once the babe is stable." He ran his hand over his eyes. What was he just doing?

"Mark, Dr. Englewood can take over. You need to rest," she said softly.

He shook his head in objection. "What was I doing?" Burying a hand in his hair, he stared at her bare belly for a moment. Saline? He looked at the notes.

"You just got done with the saline," she said.

"Mark, if you're worried, you can sleep next to her." The doctor set a hand on his shoulder.

It took a minute for the words to sink in. He stumbled around the bed and eased down next to her. "Are you squished?"

"No." She smiled.

Soft snores filled the air, his foot still touching the ground.

She smiled and pulled a blanket over him the best she could with one hand.

"He's quite distressed."

"I think he feels guilty," she answered.

"I think he feels more than that." A smile crept in the doctor's voice.

She shook her head. Mark had stayed out of guilt and obligation, but it had helped ease her grief all the same. "So, what do you think of the babe?"

"Let me do an exam. Hold your horses." When he finished, he nodded. "There doesn't seem to be immediate danger anymore. Did Mark tell you what he thinks is causing the bleeding?"

She shook her head.

"I think I see the problem now that your womb has grown more, but let's talk to him when he wakes up. I have to go check on some other patients, but I'll be back."

When the doctor left, she closed her eyes to rest just for a moment.

"If we do that, you agree she should be fine?" Dr. Englewood's voice whispered.

"I do," Mark whispered.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Do what?"

They looked at her from where they stood at the foot of the bed, their expressions solemn. Mark stepped over and sat in the chair beside the bed. The shadows had fled from under his eyes for the most part and the five o'clock beard had been shaved, making him look more like himself than a madman. He took her hand, to her surprise. "You have extensive scarring from the...the conception."

"It bothers him to say, 'rape,'" Dr. Englewood whispered over Mark's shoulder, as if it was important she know that.

Mark gave him a look but continued. "The scars - adhesions - are pulling on your womb, causing tears as you grow larger with the babe and triggering the bleeding. If we don't cut them, you'll deliver the babe far too early. It shouldn't hurt you."

"But you're hesitant. Why? If it's so simple..."

The men looked at each other. Then Mark looked at her. "You have severe scarring, Tanya. We aren't sure that your body can support the weight of the pregnancy." Regret shined in his eyes.

"But you think you can get the babe to term?"

"This will give a chance to getting closer to term. There are no guarantees - the babe could miscarry tonight or make the full nine months."

"But I don't understand your hesitation." She looked from Mark to the doctor to Mark again.

He stared at her belly and absently stroked. "It could trigger childbirth. The pregnancy has been very fragile. I expect your body to react by initiating labor, at which time we'd sedate you to try to stop it. Our hope is that will settle your body enough to continue the pregnancy."

"It has to be done, doesn't it?"

He held her eyes. "I guarantee a miscarriage without it." His hand tightened in hers.

She swallowed hard, squeezing his hand. "Today is Sunday. There's no better day to hope for a miracle." A tear slid down.

As Mark worked silently behind the sheet, Dr. Englewood listened to the babe and told stories of Mark to distract from the discomfort. "When Mark moved to town, he had to learn how to cook." The twinkle in Dr. Englewood's eye dimmed - Mark must've had to learn to cook because funds needed to go toward Anna's care rather than a Cook. "He lit the oven and burned down half of the kitchen in the process. He was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, dear, and it was a rude awakening to live like the rest of us." The doctor chuckled.

She smiled and glanced at Mark, who seemed so absorbed in his work that he didn't appear to hear. His brow shined with perspiration.

Dr. Englewood must've noticed too. "Doing alright, Mark?" No answer. "Mark?"

He grunted, still not quite listening.

"Doing alright?"

"This one is being...difficult..." he said distractedly.

The doctor went over to help.

She gasped as something tugged and stung. Something in her belly shifted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It broke free too fast." Mark swapped tools quickly.

"It feels better. It doesn't tug anymore," she sighed in relief, not even knowing that discomfort hadn't been a normal part of pregnancy.

"Tugging?" Mark's head popped up with a deep frown.

"The pain I had on the underside of my belly."

"What pain?" he demanded.

The doctor blushed. "I thought it was growing pains. I'm sorry, dear."

Mark let out a sigh from his nose and gave the doctor a look. "I'm glad I've been privy to her medical history." Then he wiped his hands and stood, palpating her belly. "It's more pliable now. It feels better?" He looked at her.

"So much."

"Stay in bed until tomorrow evening. If you don't have anything eventful, you can sit downstairs for dinner," he stated and dumped his tools in a basin of hot water to wash.

"I'll come back tonight and see if you need a hand, Mark," the doctor stated and gave her a pat on the hand and a smile.

"Thank you," Mark answered.

When the surgeon left, she blinked at Mark in surprise when he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tanya, may I check..." He cleared his throat. "Did Dr. Englewood check your scars?"

"My scars? You just - "

"The ones on your chest."

She shifted. "Scars are scars. They're healed."

"My concern is if you have damage to your breast that could cause problems when nursing the babe."

"Oh." Her face burned. "They're ugly scars. Perhaps the surgeon could do it," she said in embarrassment.

"It's just tissue."

The man used that gentle tone again. That blasted gentle tone that made everything seem safe with him. "It's ugly tissue."

He sighed. "I know I haven't been kind to you by any means..." The poor man cleared his throat, as if embarrassed. Then he looked down at their hands beside each other but not touching. "I don't want you to feel ashamed of your body. He..." The man swallowed hard. "He took was wasn't his and it's not your fault."

She frowned. That's not what everyone said.

"You think otherwise?" He frowned.

"People said that I must've looked at him or dressed like a harlot - "

He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, looking a bit disgusted. "A man like that would've forced himself no matter what you did or didn't do."

"Oh." She looked at the sheets. That had never occurred. Why had Papa said it was her fault then?

"You know what I'm trying to say." He waived his hand.

"No." She frowned.

"You're going to make me say it?" he growled.

"Apparently because I have no idea what you're trying to say."

A gruff look overcame his face and he grunted, "I want you to feel comfortable in your body around me - and not as a sexual thing. Way. You know what I mean!"

She slowly smiled. "You worry about me."

The man grunted.

"I suppose you may check me," she said with hot cheeks.

He sat so close and his fingers were so gentle as he examined the scars. "The scar doesn't appear so deep that you won't be able to nurse, but we'll have to keep a close eye on it for signs of mastitis."

The man had such beautiful eyes that took on a soft look when his manner was tender. He made it seem so safe to say anything.

"Does it hurt every time a man takes his wife?" She looked up at him.

His movements slowed and his eyes rose to hers. "A union between a man and wife when they're in love is beautiful and gentle. There is no pain or fear, but pleasure for both the man and woman."

She nodded and her gaze wandered away. He would've been gentle with his first wife. In love, he'd be one of the gentlest men in the world, protecting his wife from every fear and every danger. It hurt to think of him having that with someone else, but there'd never be a chance that he could ever come to care for her, much less love her. After six years he was still in love with Anna. What it would be like to have a husband like that. To be loved that much that a man would be so kind and patient in the bedchambers, erasing the terrible memories.

"The right man will show you how making love is meant to be."

Her eyes shifted to him as he broke into her thoughts.

"You shouldn't be afraid of it." Then he pulled her nightgown shut.

She looked away to hide the heartache. No, he would never want her like that, much less love her. No man would want her.

"What's truly bothering you?" He didn't move off the bed.

Forcing a smile to hide the pain, she sat upright a bit more and buttoned her nightgown to make herself decent. "You speak as if a man would want me. Thank you for helping with the babe. You should get some sleep," she said to change the topic.

But the man apparently wouldn't be deterred. "Why do you say it like that?" He frowned, creating a small crease in the middle of his brow.

"Papa said he paid you a handsome dowry to take me - I assume he won at cards and gave it to you before he had a chance to squander it on drink. That and guilt to honor your word bought me. You, a good man, had to be bribed. What would other men need?"

"Your father told you that you required a large dowry?" He pressed his lips together, as if not pleased. "What price do you think I required?"

A bitter laugh. "More than I'm sure I've ever seen."

"Far less than your worth," he said softly. "This is what I took." He pulled a gold coin out of his pocket and held it up. "I demanded one coin." Then he pressed it into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. "To pay for his wedding present that he should've given you. I suspected if he lived until then, he'd use any money he had not on you. To him, it perhaps was a fortune."

She stared at him. "You took me for free?"

"I do not buy humans," he said gruffly.

"Why did you do it? We're nothing but trouble to you."

He stood and turned to go. "I'll bring you lunch." Then he left.

* * *

He read a new obstetrics book in the chair beside her bed. The woman tried to teach herself how to knit. Whatever she tried to make was turning into a misshapen knot. Her needles clinked together, constantly drawing his eyes. Pressing his lips together, he suppressed a smile at her exasperated sigh of frustration. The woman shifted. His brow furrowed when a few seconds later she shifted again. "Are you alright?"

"I can't get comfortable. My back aches half the time."

He got up and adjusted the pillows behind her. "Better?"

She nodded but still had a pinched look.

"Roll onto your side. Perhaps taking off the pressure will help."

She did and seemed to relax, so he read a few more pages...until she seemed restless again. He set down the book just as she gasped and grabbed her belly. His stomach dropped the moment he touched her belly hardened in a contraction.

"Breathe, Tanya. Good girl. No, no, no, don't cry. Stay calm." He frantically worked minutes later to stop the labor as Dr. Englewood walked in.

"Mark, he's coming," she wept.

"What's going on?!" The doctor dropped everything and washed.

"He's not coming. Stay calm. It's alright." His shirt grew damp as he checked her again.

"Bloodletting will stop the childbirth." The doctor dug supplies out of his own bag.

"NO!" That ripped out with more vehemence than intended. He glanced at Tanya, who held the headboard and panted, her brow and nightgown plastered to her already. "Bloodletting will weaken her."

"You always were backwards in your thinking. The girl needs bloodletting!"

His head whipped to the man with a fierce glare. "I've delivered dozens of babes and lost fewer than twenty percent of babes and mothers! You're not touching her!"

The man backed off.

Backwards had earned him some of the best stats in the field, even having physicians from other countries come to train with him. His stats still hadn't been broken and Englewood knew it. Something wasn't right. She had full contractions but didn't progress for delivering.

"Mark?" she panted.

"What's wrong?"

"The cramps are going away."

He blinked and felt her belly. The contractions eased off. "What the hell?" he whispered in shock.

"Don't question it," the doctor said and listened to the babe's heartbeat. "He's still sound."

Dr. Englewood listened and checked for several more minutes. Mark slipped behind and reclined her back against him, keeping a hand on her belly. "That's a girl. Just relax so it stops." His hand stroked over the babe, soothing away the last of the contractions.

Tension faded away with a deep sigh. The babe would be alright. Mark would take care of everything.

The doctor left after a bit and Mark washed up his tools.

"I'm sorry," she flushed.

He looked up in question.

"I got your shirt wet." She looked down pointedly to his shirtfront soaked with perspiration.

He looked down and shrugged. "A good deal was me too. If you're still stable in an hour, I'll wash."

"Oh, I didn't mean that."

"I know." He shrugged and puttered around the room.

"Thank you." It seemed so inadequate for how many times he'd saved the babe.

He looked across the room at her. "You're welcome."

The poor man looked dead tired, but he insisted on staying the night to keep watch.

"Mark, come lie down. You won't sleep at all in that chair. There's plenty of room." She scooted over in the bed big enough for two.

The man remained planted in the chair with a stubborn expression.

"It'll be easier to wake you if I need to. Come." She patted the bed.

"It's indecent to be in your bed." He set his jaw.

"That's the worst excuse. You've seen all there is to see of me anyways." She pushed down the embarrassment. When he didn't move, she sighed. "Fine. If you want to be so tired that you're useless and we have to wait a half hour for Dr. Englewood to come..."

He growled and laid beside her, flat on his back without touching. Then he turned off the lantern.

Silence for several minutes. "Mark?" she whispered in the dark. "Are you awake?"

He grunted.

"I can't sleep."

"Why?" he growled.

"I've never slept next to anyone before."

"You just sleep," he grumbled.

"But, what if you crush me?"

He snorted in irritation. "I'm not a giant, woman."

"You're bigger than most men and much bigger than me," she whispered.

"Good Lord," he sighed. A pillow jammed on her right. "There."

He must've jammed his pillow between them. "But now you don't have a pillow."

"Just go to sleep," he groaned.

Silence for several minutes. His breathing didn't sound deep enough for sleep, and it was so hard to fall asleep right beside him. "Mark?"

"Whaaaat?" The pillow moved and it sounded like he smothered himself with it.

"Do you have children?"

"Excuse me?" The pillow returned between them.

"They might be at boarding school. It's hard to find out anything about you. You said you don't want to be a father, but you didn't say you aren't."

The bed shifted like he rolled away. "I don't."

"Did you?" She rubbed her belly. Maybe he lost the children too or Anna died during pregnancy.

"No! Christ, go to sleep!"

"But I'm not tired."

"Oh god," he groaned, the sound muffled like he ran his hands over his face.

"Why haven't you remarried?"

"What's on your finger?" he asked dryly.

"I mean a real marriage. You're certainly handsome enough to have your pick of women, and you seem like a passionate man - "

He flung back the covers and shot up.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep in the hall," he snapped.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."

He got back in bed, mumbling under his breath.

The woman finally fell asleep minutes later, thank the Lord. Lying beside her was hard enough without her soft voice floating through the darkness. And then she'd brought up 'passionate' while in bed, triggering thoughts he had no business thinking about the chit. He shifted, the arousal finally beginning to fade. And then she rolled over, her hands curling around his arm to cuddle in her sleep. God bless it. He scooted away. Peace. His eyes drifted shut.

The bed shifted and his eyes shot open. She sighed and mumbled something, turning over and pressing her backside to his side. He stared up at the ceiling, blood flowing straight to where it shouldn't. Need throbbed as it hadn't in years. Sinking into her would be so damn sweet it'd... He slammed the door on that thought. Sitting up, he slid her over to her side of the bed and laid down. She stayed, so he closed his eyes.

The bed shifted again and he growled in irritation as her body heat came closer. The woman snuggled up to his arm. Lifting his arm up to free it and push her back over, he froze when she scooted closer and her belly rested on his hip and her hand on his chest. Something inside softened. Best to accept his fate of not getting away from her tonight. Sleep was more important so no sense in sitting in the cramped chair.

He tucked his arm under her head, and she nuzzled his shoulder like a pillow. Her leg flung over his, leaving her entire body half draped over him. Just for tonight. He wouldn't put up with this nonsense after tonight. No sense in the woman tossing and turning and going into labor from being overtired, so he'd stay tonight. His hand rested on her hip. Her damn soft, curvy hip not yet losing its contour yet to pregnancy. She fit perfectly against his side, goddammit. The wench was far too comfortable. He rested his other hand on her belly. To keep an eye on the babe. The slight swell of her small belly that still fit in his two hands wasn't sensual in the least. The increasing arousal came from having a female draped over him - it had nothing to do with the beautiful swells of her maternal body that grew more seductive each day. He snorted at that idiotic notion - he'd spent far too much time in her presence and her girlish notions were rubbing off on him. That was it.

* * *

With a yawn, she woke up on her side as the morning light streamed in. A strong arm draped over her and a large hand cupped her belly. A hard chest pressed against her back. Mark. His face nuzzled in her hair, his soft snores lightly tickling as they fluttered strands of her hair against her neck. With a smile, she backed up closer to his heat and froze when something poked against her bottom. When he gave a soft moan of tired pleasure, she held still so he wouldn't wake up and shatter the moment.

He pulled her close and kissed her shoulder. "Morning, sweetheart," he said in a thick voice.

She smiled. Maybe he was softening toward her. Maybe he didn't resent her anymore.

"I love you," he whispered and his hand ran under her nightgown up her hip.

She frowned. This didn't seem like him. "Mark?"

He shot out of bed so fast that she fell onto her back. He looked startled to see her, his eyes darting around as if trying to gain his bearings. Then grief overcame his face. "Forgive me, I thought you were someone else." He stormed out and slammed the door.

Her heart plummeted. He'd thought she was Anna. She should've known that he'd always look at her the way he just did - with regret.

* * *

It hurt so badly - to have been in that sleepy state of being back with Anna. Those mornings of cuddling in bed and... The door slammed on those memories as he barged into his chambers. The chit had looked close to tears when he'd left. That surely wasn't his fault that she'd believed those words meant for her. He didn't owe an apology or explanation. No, he'd go back to work after checking on her. She was his charge, his obligation, nothing more.

He entered her room with caution. No telling a woman's wrath for being mistaken for another. The woman looked terribly hurt - best to be brash with her. "Do you need anything before I start work?" he barked.

"No," she retorted tersely.

"Send for me if anything happens," he snapped.

She gave him a look.

The chit had no reason to be angry - he should be angry with her for convincing him to sleep in that damn bed together. He slammed the door shut. "What?! What is that look for?!"

She looked down her nose at him from her bed. "Go run, just like you run from everything else. You don't give a damn about the babe and - "

"Oh, stop your sulking!" he snapped.

"Me?! You looked like you would've traded us for her in a heartbeat!" She spat the words.

He opened his mouth to deliver a sound set down when she knocked the air from his lungs.

"I know you love her and we're nothing but a thorn in your side," she said softly with tears shimmering. "But just pretend to my face that you wouldn't give anything to have us trade places with her." She rubbed her belly.

He closed his mouth, the anger snuffing out. "Tanya, I don't wish you and the babe dead." His brow furrowed.

She gave a bitter smile and looked away, as if she didn't believe him. "You're late for work," she said quietly.

Time to let their tempers and emotions cool would be best. "I have to go to town for a meeting this afternoon for a few hours. I'll check on you before I leave." She looked at him with such sadness, but he couldn't quite read her expression.

When he headed upstairs after lunch to check on her, Brigands came down with a note.

"From the mistress, my lord."

He frowned and took it. Unfolding the paper, he read the brief lines.

 _He's been sound all day. No need to check on the babe before you go._

 _Tanya_

That was a dismissal if he'd ever seen one. A pang of regret hit that she didn't want to see him yet.

He arrived home after dark. Two saddled horses were tied in the drive. He frowned and entered the house. Brigands didn't greet him at the door. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He hurried straight for Tanya's chambers.

The sheriff and marshall stood in her room taking notes from Becky, who sported a blue cheek, and Brigands, who held ice to his head. The room was a mess, as if a struggle had occurred.

"Where's Tanya," he demanded.

"They took her," Becky sobbed into her apron.

"Who? Who took her?!"

"Two men forced their way in. They knocked out the butler and locked the maid in the pantry," the sheriff answered. "The only thing missing if your wife, my lord. No worry - they usually demand ransom and then return the hostage."

His eyebrows shot up in dismay as his heart thundered in a panic. "No need to worry?! She's with child! She's been on bedrest - she could lose the babe from this and bleed out in the process! When did they take her?"

"The butler came to at five and we arrived at six," the sheriff said.

He pulled out his pocket watch. Seven o'clock. Shit, if he'd been home on time... At least two hours. Traveling with a woman in her condition would slow them up. "Where have you sent men looking for her?" he demanded. With a fresh horse, he could cover a lot of ground with the full moon tonight.

The marshall shook his head. "They left this." He handed over a paper.

 _Don't follow or we'll kill her. We're watching._

A bluff or she really was nearby. "I leave dressed as Brigands. If they have someone watching, he'll follow me. We take him hostage to find her whereabouts."

He rode a long time on the main road in Brigand's cloak, setting the horse at a quick enough trot to draw attention.

The sheriff, a smaller man, rode wearing Becky's cloak. "I don't like this. What if they left demands at the house? Or realized it's us?"

"My gut says we're about to find our shadow. Head for the woods."

The sheriff hid in the brush and he perched in a tree over the road as a man came from the direction of the house. He waited. Closer. Just a little closer. His heart slammed. She may've already lost the baby. She might already be dead. It was his fault - they knew he had money and must've seen him leave today. He shouldn't have left her alone. He should've returned on time.

The man rode closer. He crouched, ready to pounce on the man. Closer...closer... He leapt off the branch and took the man off the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The horse screamed and skittered away.

The man struggled as he fought to climb on top. The sheriff ran over with a fist ready.

He froze in shock when a familiar old face looked up at him. "George?"

"Jesus, Mark! You scared the hell out of me?" the doctor barked.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Going to see the Johnsons because their son is ill. What are _you_ doing?"

Shit. If they were about to catch the culprit, he surely heard that racket. "Someone kidnapped Tanya!" But he was already thundering away before the doctor even got up.


	7. Chapter 7

He jumped off the steed and darted to the house, desperate for some clue that'd been missed. At the top step, he stopped dead in his tracks. Someone watched.

"How much is she worth ta ye?" The voice came from directly behind.

He spun around. Something slammed against his head. Everything went black.

* * *

He groaned. His head throbbed, and he sat on a hard chair with his hands tied behind his back. Blackness. It took a moment to realize a bag was over his head. It ripped off with excessive roughness and a bright light shined in his eyes.

"Bloody hell!" He groaned and ducked his pounding head to shield his eyes.

Someone yanked his hair, snapping his head back. A cold piece of sharp metal pressed to his throat. "Where is it?" a man hissed in his ear.

"Where's what?" he snapped. "Idiot, if you slit my throat, I can't tell you where it is, now can I?" The knife's pressure eased, replaced with several minutes of beatings. A scream ripped out at a kick to the knee. Excruciating pain said it'd just been busted. The fists finally ceased.

"Don't play coy with us," a gravelly voice sneered.

"I don't know what the hell you want, goddammit!" Sweat ran down from the intensity of the pain. "Tell me. I'll tell you and then you'll give me the girl." He spit a mouthful of blood on the stone floor of what appeared to be some dark, underground hovel.

"The girl." A burly, rough and ugly man with plenty of scars to prove it stepped into the light and smiled. "She doesn't seem to know about it either."

They'd hurt Tanya. A roar of anger and fear tore out, ringing through the tunnels. "What have you done to her?!" He struggled to get his hands free, but the rope around his torso prevented much movement.

"Boys, let's show him - maybe it'll persuade him to cooperate."

Two men hauled him to his feet and the sack shoved over his head again. He half walked and was half dragged to what seemed to be another room. A wood door creaked. A female whimper broke the silence. The bag yanked off his head.

Tanya huddled on the floor in the corner of a dim, dirty, wet cell made of stone. Her hands were chained overhead and she carried a black eye.

"Tanya!" He threw his weight and bucked and fought the three men to get to her. Panic surged. They'd beaten her and might've assaulted her - terror filled her eyes. She may've lost the babe and be hemorrhaging or in labor. Fury mounted, fueling the fire. The fucking bastards had taken his wife and done God knows what! Flinging his weight against his arms, he broke an arm free. Whirling with all his weight behind it, he slammed a fist into one of the men, making him let go just enough to free his hands and hurl an uppercut to another man. An elbow to the throat took the third man down.

"Hold him!" the leader yelled.

He hurried to her, half dragging his damaged leg. He grabbed the chain of the metal shackles and trying to rip it from the wall. "The babe?"

She stood and tried to help pull, her belly still swollen, thank god. "I don't know what they want," she wept.

The chain didn't give from it's grip in the stone wall. They dragged him away, shackling his wrists and ankles even though he bucked and fought. Being slammed against the wall knocked the air out enough that they pinned him and locked a hand around his throat.

The leader puffed stood in his face.

A distinct feeling rose up that the man planned his next torture for Tanya, to coheres an answer out of him. His chest heaved from the fight and fear - the man had seen him go ballistic to get to Tanya. That wasn't a wise move because now they'd hurt her worse to break him. "Let her go and I'll tell you where it is," he ordered, keeping his voice low to hide the quiver of panic.

The man smiled. "I thought ye don't know what I want?"

"What, I'm dumb enough to tell you before you free her?" They might let her go. All he had to do was stay alive long enough to give her time to run.

The leader snapped his fingers and a fifth man appeared from the shadows. And walked toward Tanya. "Let's negotiate yer offer."

Blood drained from his face. Oh god.

"Mark!" She yanked the chains, pure panic in her eyes as the man closed in and pulled a knife out. "Mark!" Her scream echoed as the man grabbed the chain and pulled her closer.

"It's buried just west of my house! I'll take you!" He blurted the first lie that came to mind.

The leader signaled the man to pause. "That's better."

"She comes with us," he ordered.

The leader snorted and signaled for it to continue.

"It's between boulders where only a woman's hands can fit!" Dear god, let whatever it is be small enough to make that believable.

He stopped the man again. "Bring her."

The man switched the knife for a key and unshackled her.

She glanced at him as if questioning if she should try to run. He held her eyes firmly. He couldn't help her being shackled himself, and she couldn't possibly make it past five men.

When the man moved to toss her over his shoulder, his heart shot into his throat. "No! The baby!" He had to come up with some excuse. "If she's jostled, she'll go into labor and...hemorrhage to death in minutes. I won't take you if she's harmed," he growled, forcing down the panic. He looked the leader straight in the eye. If Tanya died, they could do whatever they wanted to him.

The leader locked eyes with him for several seconds. He must've believed it. "Fine. You carry her." The men unshackled him and pulled out knives and aimed a gun at him. Shackles slapped around his wrists in front, and they pushed him toward her.

"Mark, you can't possibly carry me," she whispered with wide eyes.

He glared at her to keep quiet. Without a word, he scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, a hiss of pain from both of them. "Labor?" He panted through the pain as he limped forward.

"He's been sound," she whispered.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

One of the men pushed from behind and he stumbled forward awkwardly to catch them.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, able to keep her lips from moving.

"My knee is busted," he breathed through gritted teeth as sweat trickled down his brow.

"Shut up!"

Something hard like the butt of a gun slammed against the back of his head, pain exploding in a rainbow of colors. He blinked hard and his vision cleared. A soft hand stroked the back of his head, easing the ache. She kept firm pressure, as if knowing it would help keep a large lump from forming. Pushing through the pain, he used the time to come up with an escape plan.

They slung him over the back of a horse onto his bruised ribs with his hands shackled behind his back. If the panic to figure out a plan hadn't been so intense, he'd have protested the indignity of it.

They put Tanya on a horse and tied her hands to the saddle. One of the men climbed up behind her and took the reins. Her head whipped around and she glared at the man - he must've done something to her. A smile snaked across the man's face and he stroked her breast.

Rage surged. No man had a right to touch his wife! He struggled against the bonds and then blinked in surprise.

Tanya flung her head back, making the man howl in pain and grab his nose. In an instant, she grabbed the horse's mane for leverage, flinging her legs back to kick the man's shins. The moment the man moved a foot out of the stirrup and leaned down, she kicked the horse, making him rear. The man slid off the back of the horse and hit the ground with a thud. Before the horse's hooves hit the ground, one of the men grabbed the reins. The animal pranced anxiously.

Fire burned in her eyes as her look pierced straight through the leader. "I'm not riding with him."

"Go clean up and meet us back here," the leader snapped at the man rolling on the ground holding his broken nose and ribs. Then he climbed up on her horse himself and sat behind her.

He bowed his head to smother a smile. That was no damsel in distress like Anna would've been. There might be a chance of getting out of this yet.

"Guide us!" the leader barked as they put a sack over his head.

"Five miles west of my house. Follow the stream." Five miles would buy enough time to come up with something.

A grueling forever later, a female gasp of pain interrupted the clip-clop of hooves. "The baby," she gasped. "Stop! Oh god, I think the babe's coming! He's a doctor!" Another cry of pain.

His heart stopped. Oh god, not now on the road. His tools were back home and there wasn't a clean place here.

"Get her down and shut her up!" the leader snapped.

He was hauled down and the hood pulled off. Tanya doubled a bit away near a tree where she sank down, panting hard. They unshackled his hands to tie one behind his back but leave the other free.

He hobbled over as fast as possible. This was the last thing they needed right now. "Slow breaths," he coaxed. His heart stopped when she spread her legs as if to give birth. "No! Don't push!" Scrambling over, he worked his way down on his good knee.

"He's coming," she panted and grabbed his shirt sleeve. The woman groaned in agony. "Check him."

"Tanya, you'll get childbed fever! It's not clean here!"

"Mark!" She let out a god-awful cry and grabbed his shirtfront, yanking him closer. Then she jammed his hand under her skirt and screamed from labor pains.

Something hard and cold stuck out of her drawers. He blinked. She'd stolen the leader's gun.

"Do you...feel him?" She groaned and met his eyes for a split second. There was no pain in her face. Then she doubled over and screamed again, giving him the opportunity to grab the gun.

One shot - four men. She'd gotten them this far. He could do the rest.

"Shut her up!"

He looked at the leader, keeping his hand under her skirts. "She's birthing! Send your men to my house for my bag - I can stop the labor!" The men looked hesitant. "Go! She's too early! If she births now, she dies and I'm no longer your compass!"

The anger in his voice must've made it seem believable because the leader sent one man. Three left. Maybe he could take them on in good shape but not with a busted knee and one hand.

She grabbed his shirt collar and cried out, pulling him closer. Her hand slipped around and worked free the rope on his wrist.

"Slow down! You have to keep breathing!" He glanced at the men. They appeared to be losing patience. She freed his hand. It was now or never. Shooting the leader would send the others into a panic. Bracing his legs for quick leverage to stand, he stood and fired.

The leader fell off the horse and didn't move. The other two stared in shock for a moment.

No time or ammo to reload the gun. He dropped it and grabbed a heavy branch, bracing as the men charged. "Tanya, go!" Thankfully, the woman didn't argue but ran.

He slammed the branch into one man's head, knocking him out. The air knocked out as the other rammed into his gut. Pain burst as he slammed down on his back. The man climbed on top and rained blows.

"Stop!" a female ordered.

The man looked over his shoulder at her. And she smashed a branch in his face.

He rolled and flipped to be on top of the man. But Tanya already pointed a gun at the man. Damn, this girl was good. "What are you after?!" he demanded, pressing the man's wrists to the ground.

When the man didn't speak, Tanya cocked the gun. "Jewels."

"What jewels?!"

"Her jewels!" He glared at Tanya.

"I don't have jewels!"

"The Spanish jewels!" he cried.

He glanced at Tanya, her face baffled. "Do you recognize any of these men?" Perhaps her father had promised these men jewels.

She frowned. "No, I - " The blood drained from her face and her eyes widened in horror. "The one who left - the black-haired one," she whispered and touched her belly.

Oh dear god.

The man flung his arms, gaining enough leverage for a kick to the knee.

He screamed in pain and tumbled back with the man's hands around his neck.

Bang!

The gripped loosened and the man collapsed. With a hole in his head.

His head whirled to her. A crazed look filled her eyes with the gun still aimed at the man. Her chest heaved.

"Tanya," he said softly and got up. He lowered the barrel and eased her fingers off the gun. "He's gone. It's safe."

She blinked and immediately dropped the weapon. Her hands shook. Those brown eyes flew to him with that familiar softness again. "I killed him." Her voice quivered.

"He would've killed us. It's alright."

Her face crumpled. "Mark?"

The poor thing was traumatized. "Yes?" he asked gently. She had to be kept calm to avoid true labor.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I didn't tell you one thing." Her tortured eyes looked afraid of her secret.

"What, Tanya?" he asked carefully. She looked so frightened.

All of the sudden, a calmness seemed to sweep over her. All expression melted from her face. "Tanya?" Chills ran up his spine.

"We have to go before they come." She got under his arm.

"What do you have to tell me?" Something about that night she'd been attacked?

"Nothing."

She would tell in her own time. With a sigh, he hobbled with her support to a horse and climbed on. His knee was on fire with pain and sweat ran down the back of his shirt. Gritting his teeth, he held down a hand and helped her up.

The pain grew unbearable by the time the sheriff's house came into view. Spots monopolized his vision and he blinked hard, beginning to slouch over her. God bless it, he wouldn't faint. She didn't need that and he wasn't this much of a wimp.

She took the reins and wrapped a hand behind to hold him on. "Hold on, Mark."

That sweet voice rang tinney and far away. Shit, he was going to faint. "Tanya, stop before I take you with me." Ringing drowned out any response, but he felt the horse stop as eyesight faded away. Sitting down for just a moment would stop the dizziness. It was hard to tell if he got off the horse or stumbled off. The minute his foot touched the ground, fiery pain swept up his leg. Fainting was for women and the weak. It didn't matter that a shout would bring the sheriff out to keep the chit safe. He'd make it to the damn cottage - she didn't need to be left to do it herself in the dark with morons on the loose. He grabbed something for support - it felt like a stirrup. She wouldn't feel safe with a coward who fainted. Every muscle began to relax on it's own accord, hearing fading away now too. He fell to his knees. Agony exploded so hot that he would've screamed if not half unconscious. Screw it. Oblivion came.

* * *

Dr. Englewood walked into the sheriff's bedroom where Mark laid unconscious on the bed, covered in cuts and bruises. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Yes, yes. He went unconscious right before we got here. He took blows to the head, but I'm not sure if his head struck when he fainted." She wrung her hands as her stomach churned with worry.

"I would've too if I looked like that. Sheriff, cut his shirt off." The doctor set down his bag and examined Mark's head for bumps. "A small lump at the back of his head?"

"They hit him with the butt of a gun."

"Did he lose consciousness when it happened?"

"No." She hovered at the foot of the bed.

He glanced at her black eye pointedly. "And you?"

"I just got slapped around. They beat him and hurt his knee. Hurry." She walked to the other side of the bed and sat, taking Mark's limp hand as the doctor worked his way down the man's battered body. He listened to Mark's breathing and felt his ribs and palpated his stomach. Then, to her utter embarrassment, he pulled off Mark's pants as if he'd stripped hundreds of people over the years. She diverted her eyes as he took his time studying her husband's terribly swollen knee that sat at an odd angle.

"Hmm...yes, yes," he mumbled to himself. Then he manipulated the leg. Mark stirred. "Ah, bothers you even in oblivion, hm? We'll take care of that." Dr. Englewood examined the other leg and seemed to finish with the exam. "The ligaments in his knee are torn. I'll take a peek at you, and then we'll do surgery on him."

"Surgery?!" Oh dear heaven. She'd never met anyone who had needed surgery, but tales of the pain and infection were terrible. "Can't you just wrap it and give him time to heal?"

"If he wants to be in severe pain and a cripple the rest of his life, yes. He's young and strong. He'll be alright. Let's take a look at you."

"I'm fine. Please, just fix him." She stroked her belly in distress.

He settled for listening to the babe while she kept her eyes on Mark. The poor man seemed restless and painful even in unconsciousness. "Please, fix him and then you can poke at me all you want."

The doctor smiled. "He's alright for a few moments, dear. Just some stitches on a cut on his upper arm and surgery on his knee. He can take care of the rest." He washed and whipped in sutures before he prepared for surgery.

"He looks awful," she sniffled. The poor thing sported a black eye, split lip, bruised jaw and dozens of bruises over his torso.

"He'll be on his feet in a few days. No need for tears." He held a rag over Mark's nose and Mark seemed to quiet. "Do you know what the kidnappers were after?"

She still held his hand tight and looked across the bed at the doctor. "Jewels. We don't know what they were talking about. Two got away." She stroked Mark's hair.

"Staying or going?"

"Staying," she replied without looking away. His poor eye looked swollen too.

"You have a strong stomach?"

"I'm staying," she ordered.

A half hour later, she wasn't as enthusiastic as she vomited in a basin.

"Why don't you go? I still have a ways to go, dear."

"I'm fine." She moved to a chair beside the bed for some distance from the blood smell and turned the chair from the gore to focus on Mark's face. Then she took his hand again.

"He doesn't know if you're here or not."

"He's saved my babe and I several times. I owe him more than this, sir."

"He'd say you owe him nothing."

"He's a stubborn man. He's bound by honor."

"And you? What are you bound by?"

She held Mark's hand tighter. "More than he knows," she whispered and stroked his brow.

It was long after midnight when the doctor finished the surgery. "Sleep in the bed. I'll have the sheriff help slide him over." The men moved Mark, creating a small spot for her in the little bed.

"Where will you sleep, sheriff?" She held her aching back.

He smiled. "I can sleep anywhere. I'll be on the sofa if you need me."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to impose - "

He held up a hand. "Happy to help, Marchioness."

The doctor turned to her. "Make sure you give him these fever powders if he gets restless. I don't want him getting up, so use the chamber pot. Give him a full packet. I'll be back after lunch to check him." He yawned. "He'll likely be out until tomorrow evening."

Once alone, she stared down, so tired it took several minutes to think. "Sleep," she reminded herself. Stripping to her chemise, she climbed in bed beside him. "You are a bed hog." She pulled up the blankets and had to rest her head on his shoulder and her belly on his hip to fit. "Thank you for coming for us, Mark. Even though you hate having us, I knew you'd come. For not wanting a wife, you aren't such a bad husband." Then she kissed his cheek and fell asleep.

* * *

The sun shined bright in the late morning. She yawned. Mark shifted with a soft grunt. She sat up and watched his hand give a drunken tug at the sheet at his waist. "Are you in pain?" She got up and dug his pocket watch out of his clothes. "It's too soon, Mark..." When his hand drifted down to between his legs, she flushed. "Oh. Let me get the sheriff." She pulled on her dress and stepped out into the main room of the cabin. Empty. A note lay on the table.

 _Woke up late. Gone to get breakfast._

"Lovely." She went back to the room and Mark shifted again in restlessness. "Well, let's see if I can do this." She grabbed the chamber pot and positioned it. "Alright, Mark." The man was too drugged up to follow, so she gently pressed on his lower stomach. "Please. I don't know how long the sheriff will be gone." He finally went, which posed another dilemma. "Um, do I wipe you? Goodness, I don't know what I'm doing," she mumbled. Biting her lip, she found something to wipe with. "Good. Now we have that figured out." She smiled and took away the chamber pot.

Returning to him, she looked down. He seemed to be peaceful again. "The Lord strike me down, I suspect you'll have a fit once you find out what we just did." Holding her back for a moment, she surveyed her strong, burly husband from head to toe. "I think you'll due quite nicely, sir. You're certainly handsome enough, even with all your bruises and bandaged knee and arm." She pulled up the blankets before curiosity could win about that mystical area between his legs.

* * *

"He's doing well." Dr. Englewood packed up his bag shortly after noon.

"But he hasn't woken up." She frowned.

"It's a painful knee injury. He's on a high dose of morphine and likely won't hold coherent conversation until tomorrow. Give him three-quarters packet tonight."

The sheriff remained a faithful companion throughout the day, but her attention kept wandering to Mark.

"He's a strong one - he'll pull through fine," the man promised.

"The doctor doesn't know how much damage he has to his knee."

"Dr. Englewood is skilled. If anyone is the best for a leg injury, it's him. He was a surgeon in the war. The marquess can use a cane if he must. At least he'll walk."

"He's a proud man," she sighed. He may not use a cane...and cause himself more trouble.

"I'm sure he is."

She frowned and looked at the sheriff. "You don't know him well?" For such a small town, everyone must know everyone.

"Only the doctor knows him." He dealt out cards. "The doctor helped care for the late marchioness at the end. The marquess keeps to himself." He laid a card down.

"He surely must have some friends."

He shook his head. "He's a mystery to everyone around here. When we heard he took a new wife, we all feared for you."

"Me?" she laughed. "He growls but doesn't bite."

"Doesn't bite you, perhaps. His temper is widely known. He's gone through twenty maids and housekeepers in six years. Most quit after the first week. Becky is scared of him. Brigands won't say a thing about him - says, 'the master wants his privacy.' You - you seem fond of him." He frowned.

She smiled and set down a card. "He has a good heart."

He snorted.

"You think otherwise?"

"You're smitten with a cold man." He laid down another card.

"Oh, he's not so bad. He's just lonely."

He mumbled into his cup.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Marchioness, everyone has their secrets. Be careful."

She frowned. What an odd thing to say.

"Are you happy? Is this how you imagined marriage?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Sir, that's rather personal."

"You had a hard past, if I'm reading between the rumors accurately. I think you'd be better off to pack up and start over."

She looked at him closely. "You hold a grudge against him?"

"My lady, not all of us believe that his wife met her Maker peacefully."

"Of course not - they came here because she was ill. I'm not sure for how long, but my understanding is she had a suffering illness."

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Mark through the doorway to the bedroom. "She was dying alright, but not by the means God meant."

"What are you talking about?" she snapped.

"I don't mean to upset you, but we worry for your safety. Rumor is he used to be a doctor. He kept all kinds of bottles in her room, according to employees he went through. He gave her one that made her hair fall out and body waste."

She blinked. "Poison?"

He nodded. "He's said to be mad. Be careful. It's whispered that she crossed him and he poisoned her. Now he's guilt ridden over it."

Her eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder at Mark fast asleep yet. "There has to be some kind of explanation. Maybe it was a treatment gone wrong. He still loves her - he couldn't possibly have killed her." Then she looked at the sheriff. "He has a temper, but he's never hurt me."

"He was apparently enamored with her in the beginning too." Uneasiness crept in his eyes. "You are his property. If you runaway and he orders me to find you, I must search. But I might forget to search south for the first two days. I imagine it would take a woman with child a day to make it through the next southern town." He laid down another card.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad people like it. I'm toning back some of the point of view changes so hopefully it's still not so confusing. I think toning it back works too without losing the style because we know them each a little better now.**

* * *

"Tanya?" A deep, groggy voice grunted through sleep.

She shot up in the morning light and looked down at Mark. Pain glinted through half-hooded eyes. "What's wrong?" How long had she slept once the ghost nightmares of Anna had stopped?

"Is it time...for more...?" The words slurred out.

He must mean more morphine. "What time is it?" Leaning over him to reach his pocket watch on the nightstand, she jumped out of bed. "I overslept! I'm sorry, you're overdue for it."

"Tanya?" he croaked.

"Hm?" She measured out the powder into a glass of water.

"I don't...remember."

She turned, the poor man a picture of misery with tears in his eyes. "Remember what?" Sitting on the bed, she shoved pillows behind to prop him up enough to drink.

"What I was...going to say." The poor thing blinked hard and began to slide to the side.

It took all of her weight to push his heavy frame back up. She held the cup to his lips with a handkerchief on his chest to catch spills.

After several swallows, he managed to get it all down. "Thank you," he sighed, his eyes squinted in discomfort.

She blinked and stilled for a moment while laying him down again. It was the first time he'd ever said it - the first time he'd really ever accepted her help. "You're welcome." Then she got him settled and made hot compresses over the fire in the other room. The morphine didn't seem to be quite enough for the pain.

When she returned, she draped the rags over his battered body. She flushed when his eye cracked open to watch her pull the sheet down to his waist. "I found this helped the most after...well, when I took punches."

"After he assaulted you," he finished quietly.

She kept working without a reply.

"You need one for your face." The words didn't come quite as crisp as usual, but a bit clearer than a few minutes ago.

"I'm fine." She started to pull down the sheet, but he held it fast. "Mark, you needed the chamber pot a couple times yesterday, and I was the only one here in the morning."

His face actually turned red.

"I suspect you need it again." So the man could get embarrassed about something. She suppressed a smile.

"I can do it."

"No, the doctor said you must stay off your leg."

"For Christ's sake, get it and I'll do most of it." Without the ability to give a crisp delivery, he didn't seem fierce at all. He even struggled to raise onto his elbows.

"Mark, you're too drugged. Just be still and I'll see to it."

"Get the sheriff." He laid down.

"He is gone for the morning."

"Just hand it to me and I'll do it." The cranky man set it under the sheets. "Do you mind?"

Her eyebrows rose. "I have to leave? For heaven sake, I did it all yesterday. Your anatomy is hardly shocking now."

"Out." His temper seemed to pull him out of the drug haze.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped into the other room and waited for a minute. Then she walked in and reached to move the sheet, but he held on tight. "You're impossible." She tried to fumble under the sheets but finally jerked them down, wiped him and grabbed the pot.

"What the - ?!"

"You needed wiping."

"What?"

"After going." She rolled her eyes. He was impossible.

His eyebrow rose. "Men don't have to."

"Oh." She lowered her chin from a haughty tilt, her cheeks on fire. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"You've never seen a man, have you?"

Her chin raised again. "Yes, I have."

"Before yesterday," he said dryly.

"Why do you care?" she snapped. It didn't take him long to return to his snarly manner.

But his face was solemn. "Because it must've frightened you not even understanding what he was doing. It'd be natural to be curious but hesitant about seeing a man. You shouldn't be afraid of men."

With hot cheeks, she looked away. He must realize that she'd looked at him yesterday. Best to face it head on. "I see why your wife wasn't afraid of you."

He frowned. "Pardon?"

"You're not...um, as big as he was. A man your size would be gentle."

His eyebrows rose.

Not the best choice of words. "Not that there's anything wrong with you - "

"Tanya, do you know about a man's anatomy?"

A deep flush swept up. "I know what there is."

His brow furrowed. "When a man is aroused, he enlarges two to three times."

Oh dear heaven. How could he say that could be pleasurable for a woman?

"Men are somewhat comparable in size. It's how they could about coupling that determines pain or pleasure for the woman."

She turned away, not wanting to remember.

"What were you going to tell me in the forest?"

His tone held that gentle note again, the one that made it safe to talk to him in the moment. Stroking a teacup on the table, she whispered, "Nothing."

* * *

"Now, don't put weight on it," Dr. Englewood instructed the next day.

"Just give me the damn crutches." Mark got to his feet with effort and growling, but without anyone's help.

"Be a good man and let me check your splint," she said and knelt.

"Get off the floor - you look like a dog. I'm not five - get up!"

She checked the knee wrap anyways and stood. "Good thing you're sweet sometimes." She kissed his cheek. "Or maybe it was the drugs that made you sweet yesterday," she teased. He'd been quiet and gentle for the most part of the day previous.

He rubbed the kiss off on his shoulder. "I rescued you in a moment of guilt. I should have jumped for joy when you were gone. Don't get any ideas - I don't like having you around all the time like this," he snapped.

She smiled. "Yes, dear."

"Don't call me that," he hissed, his eyes shooting sparks.

She blinked in surprise. Yesterday it'd slipped out and had almost made him smile. "Alright."

Then he spun on the doctor. "Go home!"

"Mark! He's trying to help you."

"I don't want help! I want everyone to go away and leave me alone! Just everyone leave me alone like it used to be!"

"You don't mean that." She frowned.

He turned on her. "And you! Go home! I'm moving out! I'm not your husband to care for!"

Her face fell in confusion. "I don't understand why you're being like this - "

"Jesus! I don't want you! I never wanted you! I was doped up yesterday! I don't know why the hell I came after you!"

Tears burned. "You don't mean that."

"I do! Get out!" His neck veins bulged with the shouts.

"Mark!" The surgeon stepped between them. "Enough."

"Get out!" he roared. He shoved a handful of coins at her and pushed her toward the door. "This had better last you until I send more. Goodbye!"

She whirled around, clutching the coins to her chest. "You promised you wouldn't leave us." Tears fell. "You promised to protect us." That madman might come back. Brigands and Becky couldn't offer much protection. He'd said he wouldn't leave her in a house alone. "You promised," she wept.

"Guess what, princess: this world is full of broken promises." Then he slammed the door in her face.

The doctor gathered her to him as she wept. "He's painful and frustrated with his leg. The drug can exacerbate mood swings. Come home with me and let him have his tantrum."

That evening, she received a missive at the surgeon's house.

 _Come home._

 _Mark_

Coming from him, it was an order, not a request. And an indirect but nonetheless message that he missed her, even if he wouldn't admit it.

She had a hospitable dinner with the surgeon, who agreed it would be good for Mark to not have everyone immediately jump at his bidding.

Walking into the house after dark, the voice that greeted brought forth a smile.

"Goddamn took your time!" His voice boomed through the foyer even before him. A second later, he limped out on his crutches.

Hiding the smile, she took off her cloak and remained calm. "I didn't realize I had a curfew."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he sneered. "I didn't realize you had social calls."

Hanging up her cloak, she turned to face him. "I'm not a possession or employee who jumps at your bidding."

"Obviously or you'd be fired. And by law, you are my possession."

Giving him a snooty smile, she headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Walking away. You should recognize the gesture."

"I'm not finished!"

"I know," she threw over her shoulder.

Only a few minutes of peace. At any moment he'd barge through in a temper. Three. Two. One.

The door slammed open. "You little brat - "

She cut off his words with a hearty kiss.

When she let go, he stormed out and slammed the door behind himself.

She smiled. "He missed me."

* * *

The chit ignored him for two days. That blasted kiss didn't help with trying to sleep either. Brigands had to help with the dressing changes instead of Tanya, whose duty this should've been as his wife. And she would've been a hell of a lot gentler and better to look at. No one ignored him, goddamn her.

Walking into the kitchen the second miserable evening, she stood at the sink instead of Cook. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows as she scrubbed a pan. Her bottom swayed, just right for a man to come behind and wrap his arms around to help her wash dishes. The chit didn't look pregnant from behind - her waist trim and hips plump and ripe for... His teeth ground. Goddammit, she'd made him stare again. "Where's Cook?" he barked.

"Ill. I'm making dinner." She didn't even turn around.

Silence. His blood boiled. "Are you going to keep ignoring me?"

"Are you going to watch your tongue?"

"Who is the master here?!"

She set a hand on that dainty hip and turned. "Obviously me."

His jaw dropped.

"Three rules. One, you don't walk away from me."

He snorted.

"Two, you respect me as a human and as your wife."

He smirked.

"Three, you do not kick me out."

"Oh, really?" he growled.

"Yes."

"No." He turned to go.

"Fine. I'll be gone for a week."

He spun around. "To where?!" he demanded.

"My affairs are none of your business."

The chit had the gall to throw his words back at him. "I have a right to know where my wife is for a week!" God bless it, he wanted to stomp a foot!

"I thought I wasn't your wife."

"Goddammit, answer the question!" He stomped a crutch instead.

"My goodness, you need to stop having tantrums before the babe learns them from you."

"Woman!'

She turned. "Your concern is sweet but as you said, this is a marriage of honor."

"Son of a bitch! Answer me!" Now she had _him_ \- a composed marquess - having tantrums like a damn child!

"Watch your language. The babe can probably hear you." She turned and continued scrubbing. "I'm going to see my mother's grave."

"You need to go for a week?" he snapped.

"Yes. She died when I was born. I've never been to her grave."

"Why will it take a week? Where the hell were you born?" The words barked out.

"Spain."

He blinked. "You're Spanish?"

"No."

Silence. "Are you English?"

"Do I look English?" she retorted.

He studied her auburn locks and fair skin. But upon closer look, other features stood out. She had a beautiful almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones and full lips. "I suppose not."

"I'm half English by my father and half Native American by my mother."

His eyebrows rose. "As in tribal from the Americas?"

"Yes." She turned around to continue scrubbing.

There was something erotic about having a foreign wife, goddammit. "How did you end up in Spain?"

"Mama blended in better in Spain than England, and my parents weren't discriminated there. Papa brought me to England when I was a newborn."

He cocked his head and studied her backside. Her body wasn't volumptuous, as was the fashion, but instead more beautiful and graceful with her willowy frame. The English side took over in her coloring. Heat rushed between his legs, goddammit!

She must've caught him staring. "What?"

He blinked and shook his head.

"Sorry to disappoint you - your wife is further fallen from Society," she snapped.

Thank god she'd been unkept and he'd been blinded with anger for so long, for no sane man would leave a marriage with her unconsummated. "You're very...nice looking." So damn nice looking.

Her big brown eyes rolled. "Uh huh." Then she wiped down the counter.

A frown pulled. That was no way for her to accept a compliment. "You don't think so?"

The woman threw down the rag on the counter and turned to look at him in irritation. "If you came to point out what a poor end of the bargain you got, point made."

"I didn't say that," he scowled.

She turned and peeled potatoes in the sink with excessive enthusiasm. "Right. Here, we'll get it _all_ out. Besides being a half breed, my father was a nonfunctioning alcoholic. The only thing my father did teach me was to read. The only books I had were ones I found fallen on the side of the road, but they didn't last long because we needed kindling. I struggled to hold down jobs because Papa needed me at home to take care of him. I don't remember not being poor, I'm no longer a virgin and I'm carrying a bastard. There. Have your fun now for I won't hear of it after the babe's born," she barked.

"Why would I have fun?" He frowned severely.

"Please. You live to point out how I'm not good enough. Just more reasons to hear why you don't want me or the babe." She dumped the potatoes in a pot and mashed with excessive force.

The words struck raw and right to the heart. "Tanya." He set a hand on her arm. The woman didn't turn. "Would you look at me for a moment?"

"No."

"Why?"

She spun on him. "Because you can't expect people to just keep taking you stomping on them! It hurts! You're not God's gift to humanity and allowed to get away with anything just because you have money!"

Yesterday had finally pushed her over the edge. He held her eyes. "I owe you an explanation and apology for yesterday."

"Mark," she said with tears in her eyes. "I'm not your doormat. You punch me and then apologize, only to do it again later."

"It's not what you think." He had to tell her. Humiliation burned hot. "Hear me out. You don't have to say anything, just hear me out."

"Why?"

"Because..." He swallowed down his pride for the first time in years. "I need to tell you something."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Pulling out a chair, he sat and propped up his aching leg. "Come sit so your ankles don't swell."

"No." She pursed her lips and waited.

"A few months after my wife passed, I was in a riding accident. I had a hard time coping with her death. I drank far too much and then tried riding. I charged straight into a fence in the dark. It impaled my horse and killed him instantly. I was thrown and landed on a boulder." He pointed to the scar on his chin. "Englewood set my broken jaw and created a cast contraption that kept me bedridden for six weeks. The pain was unbelievable. I..." He swallowed hard and didn't meet her eyes. "It took nearly three months to get off the morphine after I healed. I was too ashamed to tell anyone." He fingered a spoon sitting on the table. His eyes flitted to hers and his cheeks turned red. "After the knee surgery, I realized I was addicted again. I tried to stop cold turkey the day I yelled at you. I was having withdrawl. It's no excuse, I know..." The man's pride shriveled before her eyes. "I'm still having mood swings. I didn't mean to hurt you." He looked desperate for her to believe it. "I'm not a drug addict, Tanya. When I asked for more pain medication, I thought I hurt from being beaten. I didn't realize I was having withdrawl." So much shame colored his face.

She sat in a chair beside him. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot. Taking his hand, she felt the tremors.

"I haven't touched it since my jaw was broken," he vowed.

"How do I know that?" She met his eyes. "Are you still taking it?"

His emotions shut down, as if her skepticism hurt. "I don't expect you to believe it," he said softly and got to his feet. He cleared a lump in his throat. "You're free to take whatever funds you need for your travels. Money is in the safe behind the portrait in the study. 12-51-34. The sheriff can recommend footmen to accompany you as protection." He turned to go.

So he still struggled getting off of the drug. "Mark?"

He turned.

"Thank you for telling me, but I have to protect the babe," she said quietly, regretting the shame in his eyes.

"I wouldn't respect you if you didn't," he said quietly and left.

Intense retching came from his room that evening. She sent for the doctor and met him at the door, explaining everything.

"I know." Dr. Englewood didn't look the least bit surprised.

"You know?" She blinked.

"Dear, I've practiced for many years. For some reason, his body became strongly addicted after the accident. I monitored his usage and he didn't abuse it until after he no longer needed it for pain. He was trying hard to get off of it for two to three months. He could still function and I noticed only small doses missing. Brigands kept an eye on him in between. Morphine was our only choice for his knee surgery. That's why I pulled him off so quickly - I was hoping he wouldn't react. A body only remembers what it wants, not how long it's been. He hasn't been addicted in between - I can vouche for that. The worst will hit him tonight. Just make sure he doesn't seizure and he'll be better in a few days."

"We can't do anything?"

"His body has to do it itself," he apologized.

She went in after the doctor left and found him shirtless and in a sweat with his head in the sink. He painted hard afterwards and rinsed his mouth. His lips were white, his eyes red and his body weak. "Do you need anything?" When he swayed, she hurried over to steady him. "Let me help - I judged too quickly and should have trusted you." His body tremored.

"Please go."

"You're in for a rough night. A little vomit won't send me screaming." She helped him into bed.

"No, I might hallucinate - "

"You've cared for my baby and I. I can certainly help you through one night."

"I don't know if my temper will get worse. You shouldn't be here." He laid down.

"I can go to my room if you get hostile."

She told him stories of childhood and mopped his brow to keep him distracted from the misery. Soon he even grew hypersensitive to his clothes and the sheets, so she stripped him to nothing. He clutched her hand and panted through the imaginary pain. "Mark, what can I do?" She sniffled right before dawn.

"It will...pass in...a few hours," he gasped and clutched her hands. "Oh god," he panted and rolled onto his side, clutching his belly.

"What hurts?"

"Shit," he gasped in agony and curled up. "Tanya," he panted. "Get my bag out of here."

"Why?" She blinked.

"Because," he groaned, "I'm having cravings."

So she hid his bag.

It was the worst three days of her life seeing him suffer. At one point he was in such pain that he wept and begged for morphine. Rushing downstairs in tears, she got Brigands. He came upstairs.

"My lord," Brigands said, completely quiet and calm and certain as he took Mark's hand, "it will pass. You hold onto my lady and remember you're doing this for her."

And that was all it took. Mark tossed and turned and panted through the pain, but he'd hold her hand and touch her belly and seem to find strength to keep going. Once he finally fell asleep the third night, she sat in the chair to keep watch.

* * *

The sunlight streamed in. She yawned and stretched, blinking at being in her own bed. Getting dressed quickly, she hurried to his room. Empty. Maybe the doctor had come during the night and taken Mark to the hospital. Holding her belly, she trotted down the stairs and stopped in her tracks when she spotted him at his desk.

He stood at her entrance, to her surprise. "Are you better, Mark?" The man certainly made a fast recovery.

"For the most part," he said stiffly. "I owe you thanks for what you did. And an apology for delaying your trip."

She shook her head. "You needed me here. I'm glad you're better."

The man looked uncertain of himself. "Is the babe holding up? You must not have slept much."

With a nod, she took in the slight red rim around his eyes and his paleness, but he looked more like himself. "Join me for breakfast?"

He shook his head. "I still can't tolerate the smell of food. Are you going to be leaving today?"

"Anxious for me to leave?" A slight smile tugged. The 'thank you' and his pleasant manner surely had to be hitting his limit.

"No. I didn't mean it like that." His brow furrowed.

"I'm teasing." The smile blossomed. "I'm thinking that, if you don't object, I'll see my mother after the babe's born."

A smile almost flitted over his lips. "Good sense to not jostle the babe."

"Yes." And leaving him yet would just make her fret.

"Now that I'm of more sound mind, I didn't like the idea of you traveling in your condition, much less without proper protection or medical care." He folded his hands behind his back, seeming to balance most of his weight on one leg without trouble. That had to be a good sign that he wasn't dizzy.

"I thought you said for me to ask the sheriff about footmen he recommends to accompany me for protection." She frowned.

'Yes, well, they may not be adequate, and they wouldn't know how to help if the babe troubled you." He gave a stern look.

"Did you have someone in mind instead?" How interesting that he worried.

"Me. But I'd need some time to heal to offer proper protection."

Her eyebrows shot up, as did a smile.

"Seeing as that's unnecessary now, you should go have breakfast." He walked around the desk on his crutches and offered his arm.

"Special treatment?" She beamed up at him.

"After the last few days, I consider it lucky that you haven't run half way across the continent." Shame filled his eyes and he didn't quite meet her gaze.

Taking his arm, she looked up. "I'm proud of you, Mark. Many men would've given up."

"Yes, well, I had a lot of help," he said gruffly, keeping his eyes forward. He escorted her to breakfast.

Afterwards, she entertained herself for the day.

* * *

After dinner, Mark entered the library on his crutches. "You were up late this week. You should go to bed."

She glanced at the clock. Nine. "Alright." When she moved to step past him at the door, he offered his arm.

"I'm not quick on the stairs," he stated, offering her an excuse to bow out.

A smile formed. "I don't mind."

At the stairs, she helped him take both crutches in one hand and hold the railing to hop up the stairs. He nodded for her to proceed and joined her at the top. The man offered his arm again and continued the laborious journey to her chambers. At her door, he turned. "Tanya?" He looked as shy as a schoolboy. "Thank you for taking care of me. It was far from pleasant or easy."

She smiled up at him, resting her hands on her belly. "You've done the same for me."

He looked down at her belly. An awkwardness vibrated from him. "I haven't been suitable company for anyone in a long time."

"I know," she teased to win a smile from him.

The man didn't seem to have heard. "When...now, don't get ideas, but when I said you look nice...I..." He cleared his throat. "I meant you are pleasant to look at and shouldn't be anyone look down upon you - even me."

Those words struck a soft, tender spot in such a wonderful way. "Is that a compliment, marquess?" She smiled.

"No," he grunted.

Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek. "Now that I've seen all of you - inside and out - and haven't run screaming into the night..." She smiled and set a hand on his chest while holding his eyes. "Well, I find you 'nice' too."

He actually blushed. "Get to bed."

"Fast, aren't you?" She teased.

"Oh, you're funny," he said dryly, turned her and nudged her inside.

She turned. "Mark?" The smile faded in all seriousness.

"Yes?"

"Are you being nice to me out of honor because I helped you?"

"Off to bed," he replied gently.

The hope fell flat. "Oh. Goodnight." Then she softly shut the door.

* * *

He was already gone to work when she woke up and not home yet when she went to bed. Apparently the ignoring was back to normal.

The next morning, she went downstairs and stopped - he waited beside the table.

"Good morning." He pulled out a chair for her.

"Morning," she answered and took a seat. "Thank you."

He sat. Silence as Brigands filled the plates. "You're upset with me," he stated after Brigands left.

"I have no reason to be." She took a drink.

"I was called away to the bank in London yesterday." He took a drink.

"Like you said, your affairs aren't my concern. I occupied myself." She picked up the fork.

"Don't be like that." He frowned.

She set down her fork. "Mark, decide what you want. One day you are giving me more attention than you usually do in a week, and the next day you disappear without a word. You said we weren't going to dine together, yet here you are. You want a marriage of convenience, fine, but I'm not here to be picked up and dropped according to your whims - "

He held up a hand. "I understand. I shouldn't send mixed signals. The bank was robbed during the night. I'm not used to having someone around, so I didn't think to leave a missive for you."

"Oh. Well, I'd appreciate it if you would."

"Fine." Tense silence. "Lord, I forgot how difficult wives are," he muttered under his breath.

"I didn't know how difficult husbands are," she retorted.

"What has you in a dither?" he dropped his fork and demanded.

"Nothing." She shot up and threw down her napkin.

"Sit down - that babe needs to eat," he commanded without patience.

"Oh, shut up." She stormed to the door.

"Sit. Down!" It was a tone not to be crossed.

She turned at the door. "Why? What concern is it of yours? Oh yes, you'll foot the medical bills if it's not a heathy babe," she spat.

Those blue eyes pierced ice cold. "Sit. Now," he growled.

"I can't do this," she sighed in defeat.

"Do what?" He barked the words.

"This!" She flung out her arms. "I thought I could sit happily in the background with the babe, but I can't. I want your attention, although I don't know what sane person would. I want a husband who wants me."

"I'm not doing this." He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the crutches.

"You said you wouldn't walk out." She blinked.

He stopped. "I'm not doing this. Discussion done." Then he walked out.

She followed him to the study and slammed the door shut. "We're not done! I want to seriously talk."

"Tanya, you want what I can't give," he sighed and dropped into his chair.

She stood on the opposite side of the desk and rubbed her belly. "I want a friend. I want a man who doesn't dread coming home to me. I don't expect love or lust - "

He ran a hand over his face. "There are things you don't understand - "

"You didn't poison your wife," she stated.

"What?" He blinked.

"The rumors."

He looked away out the windows, grief and guilt clouding his face.

"Mark?"

"The rumor is true," he whispered, as if to himself.

She swallowed hard. "But not on purpose. It was an accident..." It couldn't be true. He wouldn't murder his wife.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes transfixed out the window.

"No," she insisted as the tears welled. "You wouldn't do that."

His gaze shifted to her and tears shimmered in his eyes. "I'm not fit to be a husband or father. You have money, food, shelter and the protection of a man's name. I can give nothing more."

She shook her head in disbelief. Guilt made him think he was responsible - that had to be it. "No, if you killed her, you'd be in prison."

"I was acquitted!" He snapped, anger and pain dancing in his eyes. "If I agreed to never hold a practice again, I could go free! You have your secrets and I have mine!"

The tears fell. He had tantrums but a good heart. "You're not a murderer."

He roughly ran his hand over his face to brush away the tears. "Oh, my dear, that's exactly what I am."


	9. Chapter 9

Mark disappeared for the next couple days, so she took Becky along to the library. It took a great deal of searching, but she found the papers.

 _Doctor Poisons Wife_

 _Dr. Mark Debonairo was arrested today for poisoning his wife Anna Debonairo. The woman was diagnosed with cancer six months ago. After multiple opinions from physicians, Dr. Debonairo, renowned obstetrician, took the matter into his own hands. He moved to a new town and kept his wife hostage for four months as he slowly poisoned her to death. Former employees say the woman suffered hair and weight loss in her final months, compounded with severe nausea and other complications. She was finally pronounced dead by Dr. Debonairo in the early hours on Sunday, May 21, in his home. His trial is scheduled for one week from today. He will not be permitted to attend the funeral, as he is in custody facing murder and insanity charges._

Another paper a week later continued the story.

 _Doctor Declared Insane_

 _Former physician Mark Debonairo, accused of poisoning his wife Anna Debonairo to death and arrested a week ago, has been acquitted of murder charges._ _The Court declared Debonairo insane and released him to London Insane Asylum. He will undergo psychiatric testing and treatment. His license to practice has been revoked -_

"What the hell are you doing?" A deep voice snarled from behind.

She startled and spun around in the chair. "Mark!" She jumped up to hide the papers behind her.

"Put that shit away. We're going home," he growled and threw a fierce glare at Becky too.

Everyone parted the way like the sea as he limped through the library. Not a single person present didn't look afraid of him.

He must've felt her studying him in the carriage. "I'm not going to kill you," he snapped.

"There's something missing in the story."

"What?" He growled, his expression dark.

"What was the poison?" She cocked her head.

"Poison is poison."

"Or a desperate treatment to save your wife from a fatal disease. And you didn't expect it to go very, very wrong."

His eyes flew to her, as if she hit close to home. "That's _enough_ ," he hissed.

So she let it drop. But one thing was for certain - the man sitting across in the carriage wouldn't risk his life to save an 'obligation' from kidnappers if he had intentionally poisoned a woman he loved.

* * *

Someone shook his shoulder. "Mark?" a soft voice whispered.

He startled and sat up in bed, looking around. A lantern on the nightstand that hadn't been there before glowed, illuminating Tanya's tear-soaked cheeks. "What? What's wrong?" Maybe the babe threatened to come again. He touched her belly.

"I had a nightmare. Can I sleep here?"

Lovely. And he'd drank a little too much last night after finding her reading those damn papers..and then fell asleep naked on top of the sheets. "Let me get something on." He moved to get up, but she shoved a robe at him and climbed in bed like a frightened child. He pulled on the robe. "What did you dream?" Then he tucked his legs under the blankets.

The woman burst into sobs. "About him." A branch tapped against the window. She screamed in terror and shot into his lap.

A nightmare about the assault. "Tanya, it's a tree." He moved her onto the bed. "Girl, you're quaking. He won't harm you."

She plastered against his side, her arms curling around, and sobbed on his shoulder.

Something in his chest pulled. It'd been so long since anyone had sought comfort from him. "I thought the nightmares were gone."

"I haven't had one when you've been here."

He frowned. "But you have the nights I've been gone late?"

She nodded.

It was a moment of weakness for female tears that made him say, "Do you want to sleep in my room at night?"

"Really?"

The woman looked at him with such big eyes and so much hope that he heard himself say, "Your room is yours during daylight and mine is mine. Lie down."

So she laid down.

He found himself slipping on arm under so she could lay her head on his shoulder and curl up to him. God bless it, this wasn't how to keep her out of his room.

"Thank you," she breathed and rested a delicate hand on his chest. Her belly rested on his hip. Goddammit, this felt so wonderful.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Her voice sounded so small from fear.

His chest puffed up - she needed to feel safe and protected. It goddamn wasn't his concern. His chest released but the words came out of their own accord. "I don't know, but the house is locked. The sheriff has men patrolling the grounds every hour." Silence for a few minutes. Maybe the chit went to sleep.

"Mark? Do you think I'm a bad mother if I get angry about the babe?"

He frowned in confusion. "As if you resent it?" How the hell should he know what made a good mother?

"Sometimes. Sometimes I can't stand having a piece of him inside me. I don't want to hurt the babe, but sometimes I just want him out."

The walls crumbled for the poor girl - that would be enough to make anyone go insane, much less the guilt of having a normal reaction like that. "He's part of you too. You'll be a perfect mother. Once you hold the babe, you won't think about anything else but how perfect he is." Tears pooled on his shoulder. "Tanya?"

She buried her face against him. "Sometimes it hurts so much I can't breathe."

Swallowing hard, he stared up at the ceiling. That kind of pain was all too familiar. "One foot before the other," he sighed and rubbed her arm. "Someone is going to be very lucky to have you. He'd give his life for you and the babe." The tears subsided after a few minutes, so he closed his eyes to sleep. It was so easy to fall into a deep, relaxing breathing with her draped over his body.

The woman seemed to think him asleep. She whispered, "I wish it was you." Then her body relaxed in sleep a few moments later.

He stared up at the ceiling for a long time, with her draped across his chest and the babe resting safely on his hip. Somehow once he fell asleep, he slept like a baby.

* * *

She woke up to being spooned. Oh dear, he must not be awake. His knee must be feeling better to not have to sleep on his back anymore. Basking in his unintended affection, she stroked her belly. The baby kicked. "Mark," she whispered and moved his hand down to cup the babe.

He stirred and then stilled when the babe kicked.

"Do you feel it?" She smiled.

"I think that's a foot." A smile softened his tone.

She blinked. The man didn't snarl or run away. Instead of running, he swept his hand over her whole belly and softly palpated. He didn't seem the least aware of something hard pressed against her bottom.

"Here's his head." He guided her hand to the right and pressed. "Here's...oops, he flipped." The man sounded so happy. "Here's a hand...is he stretching?" He sat and pulled up the sheets to bare her belly. A tiny lump moved across her belly.

She laughed. "Is that what it is? He does it several times a day." Something pressed up under ribs. "What's that?" She guided his hand up.

He smiled. "His bottom," he said as he leaned over her.

It was the first time seeing him smile. His face softened and perfect teeth glinted. But the happiness in his eyes chased away the clouds, leaving his eyes as clear as a lake on a summer day. He looked so beautiful. Her heart flip flopped. She smiled, unable to resist his infectious happiness. He looked down, and the smile faded from his lips but the clearness of his eyes didn't flee.

Those gorgeous blue eyes locked on her, and he lowered his head until his warm lips brushed hers. His kiss was gentle and soft and intoxicating. Her arms slipped around his neck as he eased down. Heat rushed between her legs and passion burned so hot as his sweet tongue dipped past her lips. A low growl vibrated his chest against hers and his hand cupped her thigh and guided her leg to wrap around his hip. Her heart thundered with need from the fire he lit. The room began to spin and yet she wanted more. His hand stroked her belly and he moaned deep in his throat, as if finding pleasure in the swells. Sweet heaven, she'd go up in smoke at any moment. Her other leg wrapped around his hip, causing his hardness to press just right. She gasped and arched at the sudden pleasure unlike anything felt before.

He was gone.

The man stood on the far side of the bed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a dazed and startled look in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. It - "

She got up before he could finish saying it was a mistake. "I lost track of time." Grabbing the burned out lantern, she headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" He sounded baffled.

"I have things to do today," she threw over her shoulder and escaped.

She leaned against her door once she was safely inside her room. "What are you doing?" she whispered to herself. She couldn't fall in love with the man whose ring she wore, with the master of this house...because he would always love a ghost.

* * *

He missed her, god bless it. She stayed in her chambers all morning claiming to have things to do. He couldn't concentrate on the ledgers - his mind kept wandering back to this morning. This beautiful morning when he likely would've ended up making love if she hadn't snapped him out of it.

"You look like a lovesick fool."

The daydreams shattered at the doctor's entrance. The irritating man grinned like a fool. "What do you want, old man?" he snapped.

"I came to check you knee and make sure you wife was still sound." He set his bag on the desk.

"She's fine, and I don't need you poking at me," he growled.

"So she is your wife now?" A twinkle brightened the bastard's eyes.

"I'm tired of wasting my breath arguing with you. But she's not my wife." Dear Lord, it would've been wonderful to make her one this morning. The damn woman took far too much of his time and he was behind on work today!

The doctor simply smiled. "You should be ready for the bandage to come off and start some range of motion exercises."

He sighed in irritation. "So you came for torture. Lovely." Heaving himself out of the chair, he grabbed the crutches.

Half way up the stairs with the doctor, Tanya appeared. "Are you alright?" She hurried down the stairs.

"He's here to be obnoxious," he grumbled.

She took the crutches. "Would you help him, sir?" The doctor got under his arm.

"I'm fine!" He barked the words. "I've been doing the stairs this way for days and don't need help!"

"We haven't had anyone here who could support your weight. Be a good man and let Dr. Englewood help." Then she started up the stairs with his crutches.

The woman was growing large enough with child that stairs weren't as safe. "Hold the railing," he barked at her back.

The chit turned a few steps up and smiled. "I was wondering if you'd start to worry about me on the stairs." Then she held the railing and continued.

"I'm not footing anymore medical bills," he growled, continuing the laborious ascent.

"Yes, Mark."

Her tone sounded like she was laughing at him! "Don't sass me, woman!"

She turned at the top of the stairs a few steps up. "Yes, dear. I shouldn't want a repeat of this morning as punishment." The brat beamed.

His jaw dropped and he stared, screeching to a halt on the stairs. Heat pooled at the memory.

The doctor's shoulders shook under his arm. "Why, Mark, I daresay this is a first of seeing you speechless."

At the top of the stairs, he yanked the crutches away that she offered, the smile still on her face. His scowl didn't seem to faze her, goddammit.

"Do you need help?"

"No!" he barked and hobbled down the hall.

Once the doctor closed the bedroom door, he grinned. "I'm glad I showed up late this morning."

He sat on the bed. "I didn't bed her," he snapped.

The doctor held up his hand not gripping the medical bag. "It's none of my business." But he still smiled.

"I didn't!" If the chit insisted on making everyone believe it, though, he might have to. Then she'd shut up and be too embarrassed to mention it. A good, long bedding to get this fire out of his blood if worse came to worse.

* * *

Mark was painful and in a bad mood the rest of the day, so she left him alone. After dinner, she went to her chambers. Sitting in bed in her nightclothes, she read a book. When the floor creaked, she looked up.

He stood in the doorway on his crutches with a scowl. Then he turned and left.

She frowned. "Mark? Did you need something?" Climbing out of bed, she stepped into the hall.

"No," he snapped over his shoulder.

"How is your knee?" She fell into step beside him.

The man just grunted.

"Do you want help with your exercises tomorrow?"

"No," he growled and turned into his room.

She stopped at the doorway.

He turned with a hand on the door, his eyes hard.

"Oh. Well, goodnight." Apparently he deeply regretted this morning.

Hurt flashed through his eyes and he slammed the door.

She blinked. Something happened. Opening the door, she stepped in. "What has you in a temper now?" She set a hand on her hip.

He eased onto the bed with a grimace of pain and rubbed his thigh. "Nothing! What are you doing in here if you're not going to sleep?" The words couldn't have come out more clipped.

A slight smile tugged. He was upset she wasn't sleeping in his room but too proud to say. "I wasn't sure if you meant what you said last night. I'll turn out my lantern and be back."

"Fine," he grumbled, his feathers not seeming so ruffled. "You aren't plastering yourself all over me like last night. I couldn't sleep a damn wink."

The slight shadows that usually kept residence under his eye were gone today. "Yes, Mark." She smiled and left to turn off her light.

In bed, she laid on her side facing him now that the babe was large enough to make laying on her back uncomfortable. He laid on his back but seemed restless with his leg, so she sat up and took one of the extra pillows. Then she pulled down the sheet and carefully lifted his leg, easing the pillow underneath his knee to bend it at a gentle angle. "Better?"

He nodded, the pinched look gone from his face. "Thank you."

She laid down and tucked her hands under her cheek.

His head turned to her and he laid a hand on her belly. "Is the babe sound today?"

An urge rose up to lay a hand over his in the intimate moment, but that would only make Mark pull away. "He's been quiet since you cut the adhesions. I feel so much better lately too."

The gentle strokes to her belly ended as he retracted his hand. "The middle of pregnancy is usually the easiest." He looked up at the ceiling in silence.

"Mark?"

A grunt.

"I like it when you touch the babe." She swallowed hard. Openness had to start somewhere. "It makes me feel less ashamed," she whispered.

His head turned to her, a tight look about his mouth. "You have a ring - there's no need for such nonsensical notions." He turned his head to offer his profile again.

Her heart fell at the rejection.

The man didn't look, but his hand moved under the blanket. Heat rested on her belly and his thumb stroked.

A big white elephant sat in the room.

"Did they truly send you to an asylum?" Her heart broke. Horror stories talked about the unspeakable in those terrible places. His hand stilled but he otherwise didn't move. "I think you were desperate to save her and tried an experimental treatment that didn't work. They labeled you a murder and insane, but I think you loved her so much that you were willing to try anything to save her. The day they're in the same shoes, then they can judge."

"Five months, one week, two days there," he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Even if you go insane to the worst degree, I will _never_ put you in an asylum."

"Was it horrible?" She set a hand over his on her belly.

"I'm tired, Tanya," he sighed and turned his head away.

"For what it's worth, I think your crime was loving her too strongly." She scooted closer and kissed his cheek. "I don't think the rumors are true at all." Then she hugged him even though he didn't move. "You're a good man."

* * *

The next day, his poor knee swelled from the exercises so much that he stayed in bed. And hardly spoke like he was so deep in thought.

"Here's your lunch." She sat on the edge of the bed with a fresh pack of ice as Brigands set the tray in Mark's lap before he quietly left.

"Hm? Oh." Mark's eyes drifted to the tray and then back out the window with disinterest.

She started slow strokes from his calf to thigh to help drain the swelling. "You miss her."

He visibly buried his emotions and picked up the fork. But he just stared at the food.

"The holidays are coming - it's normal to miss a lost one."

"When does it stop hurting?" He whispered and pushed the food around on his plate. "You don't seem to miss your father."

"I do on occasion, but it's hard to miss someone whom you disappointed."

"Your father was a moron," he growled.

Always her champion. She cracked a smile. Leave it to Mark to straight shoot it. "Perhaps. Anyways, when you allow yourself to grieve, it will get better. It'll never go away, but it'll get better."

His eyes met hers. "You deserve better than this."

She set the ice over his knee and kissed his cheek. "I will decide what I deserve. I'll be downstairs if you need me - use your set of lungs," she teased, throwing his words back at him.

"Tanya?" He was obviously caught in a moment of grief and vulnerable. "It's...it's comforting to have you around even though I complain."

A smile bloomed and she flushed. "You'll be irate over this, but...I'm fond of you, Mark." She held up her hands when he blinked. "I understand this is only a marriage of honor and that you love Anna. I will keep the boundaries you set. I'll let you eat in peace."

No expression.

She already regretted the words. Apparently he did too because he remained out of sight for two days.

* * *

Coming out of the library, she ran smack into a hard chest after breakfast. "Oh!" She grabbed her belly and caught herself. The man didn't budge from the collision.

"Are you alright?" he grumbled and eyed her belly.

"We're fine. You?"

He grunted.

She ducked around him.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he snapped.

She turned. "Me?"

"Yes. You're always eating at odd hours and hiding." The man had a fierce look.

"You're locked in your office all day." She frowned.

"I'm working! I can't exactly ride a horse to work," he barked and swept a hand down to his knee that he could now put some weight on with his crutches.

"Yes...so I'm leaving you to work. Am I missing something here? _Should_ I be interrupting? Because last I heard, I was keeping you from doing your job."

He didn't say anything.

"Precisely." She continued on her way.

"Did you mean it?" He called after her.

She stopped and turned. "What?"

He limped forward several steps on his crutches. "That you're...fond of me."

Her face burned. "I think we both got caught up in the moment."

"I didn't."

She blinked and then a laugh bubbled up. "Mark, you find me annoying, irritating, troublesome, an obligation...anything but comforting."

The man frowned severely. "You're telling me how I feel?"

"I'm telling you that you're not bound to a moment of weakness."

"Really? So, if I bedded you and then said it was a moment of weakness, you'd excuse me from it?"

Her cheeks burned. "Of course not," she said in embarrassment.

"Then I find you comforting," he declared. "You are retracting your words?"

"At this stage in our relationship, yes."

"What stage is that?"

"Tenuous."

He didn't bat an eye. "I see."

"Well, what would you say it is?"

He held up a hand. "It's only as far as the limit, so it's tenuous."

"Don't be like that. Is it farther? Frankly, with the cold shoulder from the past two days, I'd say I'm lucky to still be here."

He was as expressionless as stone.

"Mark, give me something! You say one thing but do another!"

He was silent for several moments. "Tanya," he began quietly, "I have not been around a woman for a long time. All I can say is I find your presence comforting and nice."

She stared at him.

"What?"

Putting a hand to his brow, she asked, "Are you feverish? Did you hit your head?"

The man pulled it off gruffly. "You'll eat meals with me," he ordered.

She smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"Don't get any ideas."

"No, Mark."

"And we already determined that you're to sleep in my room. So you don't have nightmares," he grunted.

"Yes, Mark." She grinned.

"Stop smiling," he snapped and went into his study.

She traipsed after him. "Did you do your leg exercises?"

"That's none of your concern," he grunted as he lowered into his chair.

She set his crutches aside for him. Before she thought about it, she bent down and brushed a kiss over his lips. "It is my concern when our rescuer got hurt saving us," she said softly and searched his eyes.

His chest puffed up slightly. "Go keep yourself busy. I have work to do," he replied gruffly and set her aside.

She smiled, headed for the door and turned. "Mark?" The man watched her, to her surprise. "I did mean it."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I know."

She slipped out. When he was agreeable, it was hard not to fall for him.

* * *

In her room, she was about to get up to go down for lunch when a knock sounded at her open door.

Mark stood there. "Lunch."

She set her quill down and walked over to him. "I know, I'm coming. Did you come up here for me?" She frowned. The man shouldn't be on the stairs.

"You didn't come." He offered his arm.

She smiled and took it. "I'm two minutes late."

"I hate tardiness."

"You shouldn't be on the stairs." She fretted and glanced at his knee swelling a bit again through his pantaloons.

"Then don't be late," he grunted. "Walk behind so I don't knock you down if I trip. Hold the railing - you're too heavy to take a tumble."

"What?!" Her jaw dropped.

"The babe."

"Oh." She flushed.

"Christ, you're too far underweight yet to be heavy." He snorted. "Your plate had better be cleared."

"Are you fretting over us?" A smile tugged.

"No," he grunted and descended. At the bottom of the steps, he stood there. "Well?"

"Hm?" She blinked up at him.

"Do I have to offer my arm every two minutes?" he huffed.

"Yes," she teased and took it. Glancing down, her hand splayed over his muscular arm and still didn't span it. "Was your father a large man?"

He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. "My father?"

"Yes. You're quite a large man."

With a shrug, he offered his profile. "I suppose he was. Why?"

"Just curious."

"And you? You're small for a woman. Was your mother small?"

"Yes. Papa said Mama's parents are too. Papa wasn't large either to offset it."

He pulled out a chair for her. "Your grandparents are still alive?"

"Thank you. I suppose they are - Papa never said differently. They live in a tribe in the Americas and were furious that he took Mama away. When he wrote them about her death, he received a reply saying they wanted to meet what was left of their daughter - me."

"And he never took you?" He sat in his chair.

"No, he took to drinking after Mama's death. I was called a heathen as a child for running all around without anyone looking after me."

He frowned severely, as if offended on her behalf. "They knew of your heritage?"

She blushed. "You seem to be the only one who doesn't see me stick out like a sore thumb."

He frowned. "You exaggerate."

She turned to Brigands as he filled the plates. "Brigands, do I look English?"

"No, my lady," he said matter of fact. "You look Native American. Chippewa is my guess."

A hearty laugh of surprise bubbled out. "That's quite good! Yes, Chippewa." Then she turned to Mark.

The man blinked. "I don't really see it. You have high cheekbones, which many people do, and almond-shaped eyes..."

Brigands smiled. "Her jaw is soft, my lord. It is not angled like an English woman's. And her skin looks like she was kissed by the sun just a bit." He winked at her. "My wife is Russian - I don't favor the English women."

She smiled and then studied Mark. "You're pure English, but somewhere along the lines a Scot threw in the dark hair and blue eyes."

He nodded. "My great-grandfather."

She propped her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand, studying the man. "You do have lovely eyes."

Mark stared, as if speechless.

Brigands made a noise and she looked at him. He gave a fake cough. When she looked at Mark, the man glared at Brigands.

"If I'm not overstepping my bounds, my lady, may I say that I think the rumors are true?"

"You overstep," Mark growled.

"What rumors?" She looked from one man to the other, but Brigands bowed out.

She looked at Mark. "What rumors?"

He ate and grumbled, "That you're so beautiful men are speechless."

"Oh." What an odd lie to be spread.

Mark took a drink.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

The man choked and set down the cup, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Then he cleared his throat. "One should not judge oneself based on others' opinions," he scolded.

"No, but I'd like to know how my husband sees me." She rested her head in both hands and smiled.

"Irrelevant." The dear man looked uncomfortable under her gaze.

"I don't think so, but I understand if you'd rather not have to deny it to my face," she sighed, sat back and picked at her food. It would've been better to not have asked and just remained ignorant. It must've been pent-up lust that had made him say she was nice to look at.

"For Christ's sake, I didn't deny it," he snapped.

She looked at him hopefully. "Then you think I'm beautiful?"

"Why in God's name does it matter?"

"Because it does." She waited with her heart beating faster in hope.

The meal finished in silence.

* * *

She stood before the window in the library and stared out. The first snowfall of the season painted a gorgeous scene as the hillsides dusted while in the blue glow of nightfall. A hand touched her belly and she startled.

"Sorry," Mark said softly from beside her. "The babe has grown."

She stroked her belly and looked down upon it with a soft smile. "Gained nearly three pounds this week."

"Good. You're starting to fill out. You're due for an exam again next week. I'll send for Dr. Englewood." He looked out the window.

"Why can't you?"

"I'm technically not supposed to...not being licensed and all that."

"But - "

"I can practice under a licensed physician's supervision only," he cut her off, as if embarrassed. "Being he seems to not be mysteriously unavailable anymore, he must resume your care. Did the seamstress ever come?"

She folded her arms over her straining dress self-consciously. "No."

"I'll send for her again; otherwise, we'll find another." He glanced from the corner of his eye. "I told you to stop stuffing in handkerchiefs."

Her face burned. "I've become indecent in the last week to not do so."

"It's simply me in the house tonight, and I promise to not ravish you," he said dryly, still only offering his profile. "Come, you look uncomfortable."

"My lord - "

"Tanya," he warned.

So she swallowed her embarrassment and pulled it out.

He cleared his throat, his voice taking on an odd, strained quality. "I'll, um, send for the seamstress in the morning."

She tucked it back in. The scars were even more unsightly as they stretched from the babe changing her body. "I...I would ask that you tell her to make the necklines high," she said quietly.

He cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. "Why can't you?"

She frowned. "Doesn't the husband tell a seamstress what he wants?"

He snorted. "I will not be wearing them, so I do not care."

"But I thought the husband must - "

He gave her a look. "As long as you do not go around half naked, it makes no difference to me."

How unconventional for him to not have some kind of say. "Oh. Thank you." She touched the ugly scar hidden under the handkerchief.

His gaze focused out the window. "Have the doctor examine your breast when he comes. I'll send for him tomorrow."

"My scar?" She asked in confusion.

"No, your breast is red like you're getting mastitis," he said tersely.

"Oh." Her cheeks burned as she stared out the window. "I'm seeing to it. You don't need to call him."

"I'll send for him tomorrow," he repeated.

She bit her lip. "Would you see to it? I'm not exactly comfortable baring myself to a man."

"And what am I?" he grunted dryly.

"My husband."

He looked at her. "Is there some kind of difference I'm missing?"

She met his eyes. "I know you."

"Tanya, he is a physician and a good man. You don't need to be nervous with him. He can see to you just fine."

She looked out the window, the nervousness and distress mounting. "Yes, Mark," she whispered in defeat and wrapped her arms around herself. Terrible memories tried to surface from months ago.

"You never protested him before."

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "Because I was scared of you."

He blinked. "Me?"

"You have a temper and I wasn't sure how far that temper could go. The doctor is a patient man - I took the lesser of what I thought were two evils."

He frowned. "Now you are more comfortable with me?"

She looked out at the falling snow. "I feel safe with you now."

Those six little words were his undoing, punching a hole right through his chest. "I'll never hurt you, Tanya, and I won't let anyone else."

Her big brown eyes looked up at him. "It's the first time in my life that someone has taken care of _me_ ," she said gently and rested her hands on her belly.

She was the absolute picture of maternal gentleness that made protective instincts rear into full drive. His chest ached in an odd way, almost painful, that made him set a hand over his heart. And then it dawned what this unfamiliar feeling was - his heartstrings being pulled. "Let's go to bed," he said gently.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! One reader said this should be in Original section, which I'm trying to find where that is.**

 **I learned last week that publishers require potential new authors to have a blog (a proven reader following maybe?). I did a lot of research about setting up a blog, but I don't know what I'd blog about. If anyone has ideas or experience, please PM me. So many Fanfiction readers are saying that they'd buy my books that I want to try soon to see if a publisher would take one of my manuscripts. :) First, I have to get a strong blog going.**

* * *

She entered the bedchamber in her nightclothes, her belly straining the nightgown in the most innocent way. The woman's cheeks flushed a rosy pink, and she didn't glance his way but climbed in bed, as if shy.

He got in bed and some form of insanity swept over, causing him to lay a hand on her belly. Her bump was warm and soft with only the thin fabric as a barrier.

She smiled self-consciously. "I need new nightclothes too."

A raging urge to cradle her and the babe in his arms swept up. Before there was even time to fight it, he laid her back and his tongue dipped into her mouth. Dear heaven, she tasted hot and sweet. Her belly pressed to his, the swell of her creating an ache in his chest. His hand slipped down to stroke the babe. Her pregnant body intoxicated in ways it shouldn't have. When his fingers brushed over her breast, a soft whimper of pain shocked him out of the spell. He pulled back and sat up.

"It's just sore," she answered with red cheeks, flushing ten shades deeper when she glanced at his bare chest.

He frowned and sat up. Another minute and he would've... Clenching his teeth, he growled. "Let me see. If it's bothering you that much, it needs to be checked." He unbuttoned her nightgown without waiting for a response. Laying his fingers against her flesh, he scowled. "This is hot. How have you been treating it?"

"Hot compresses." She tried to sit up.

He pressed her down by the shoulder and massaged the tender flesh. "There's no need for embarrassment. I had to teach new mothers how to do this several times a month, so it's not shocking to me. It's not that different than milking a cow."

She snorted. "Moo."

"I didn't mean it like that," he huffed.

"I know." Dear heaven, if this wasn't embarrassing.

When he glanced up, her heart skipped a beat. His gaze locked and the world shifted. Everything faded away as his eyes pulled her in like he could see into her soul. Then his hand slowed and he leaned in closer, his warm breath sweeping over her lips. The moment his other hand drifted up and he cradled her cheek, it was like coming home. All the nightmares and hunger and cold and pain in life faded away, replaced with his fierce protection and tenderness that nested beneath the scaly armor. That beautiful blue gaze was like floating in the coolest lake on a hot summer day. As he leaned in closer, her eyes fluttered shut. This kiss might lead to something more tonight, but that was alright because he'd be gentle and safe.

"I think the blockage moved." His breath whispered against her lips.

"Hm?" She blinked as his words sank in.

He sat back and palpated, his gaze dropping down. "The tiny lump is gone."

It did feel a little better. Straightening, she pulled her nightgown shut and turned away to button it. "Thanks," she mumbled. Of all the stupid things, she'd been naive enough to think he wanted to be affectionate. That he might've even made her his, erasing all the terrible memories of being claimed by a monster six months ago. She presented her back to him as she laid down.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine," she bit out.

"If you didn't want me to touch - "

"No, you made it clear from the start what you were going to do," she snapped. It was her stupid heart that thought he'd ever want her. Shooting up, she straightened her nightgown. "I think I'll sleep better in my room, actually," she declared in a whirlwind to the door.

He sat up calmly. "I was married long enough to know that's a female way of saying you're angry with me."

Of all the times for him to be calm, now was not one of them! Whirling around, she glared. "No, I'm not!" The irritating man's eyebrows rose in surprise. She dropped her head in her hands. "I'm angry with me," she muttered.

"If you feel safer in your own room - "

Ugh, he sounded perplexed! The desire to pull out her hair swirled up. "Mark, you don't want a wife, so stop doing these things! Ignore me!" She flung out her hands.

"I thought you got angry because I was ignoring you!" he barked.

"I was!"

"Then what the hell?!"

"Just pretend I'm not here! Go to work all day! Stay in your own bed even if I scream from nightmares!" she cried.

"Jesus, I'm not a monster!" he snapped. "Make up your mind what you want!"

"I want you to move out!"

"You begged me to stay!" he shouted in frustration.

"Now I'm begging you to go and forget about me and the babe!" she shouted back tearfully.

"Why?!"

"Because I'm falling in love with you!" Oh god. Her hands flew over her mouth in horror.

The man stared.

"I have to go." She ran to her chambers and slept in there all night.

* * *

The woman hid in the library the next morning and either pretended to keep reading or didn't hear his entrance on the crutches. He crossed the room. "We need to talk about last night."

She closed her book and got up from the settee without meeting his eyes. "You made the rules clear when we wed." The woman brushed past to the bookshelf and put the book away. "I have to arrange for the sale of my father's house - I completely forgot about it. I'll be gone for a week or two - "

"I have everything settled. If you wish to sell it, the papers are ready. If you wish to keep it, the papers are waiting when you're ready."

Her head whipped around and she looked at him with wide eyes. "You've been paying the taxes on it?"

He shrugged. "You haven't been in a position to decide what you want to do. There's no harm in letting it sit a bit longer."

She turned back to the bookshelf. "It's a dump. Sell it, tear it down, I don't care what you want to do with it," she snapped.

"It was your home for twenty-seven years." He frowned. Perhaps her father's words hurt yet and she resented the house. Perhaps it reminded her of the assault. Or maybe she just wanted to avoid _him_.

"And it's now your property, not mine," she retorted.

"It's all you have for inheritance. It's not mine to decide what to do with; I signed documemts returning ownership to you."

"Tear the hell hole down." Then she stormed to the door.

"Do not walk away from me before we discuss last night." He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath to keep calm.

She stopped at the door and turned, her face stone cold as she met his eyes. "There is nothing to discuss."

His brow furrowed and he stepped closer. "There is a great deal to discuss. If I have led you to believe - "

"You explained the rules repeatedly," she cut in. "I let my emotions from the babe overrule my judgement. I won't overstep my bounds again. As you said, I should look elsewhere for discreet companionship - "

His heart stopped. "I want to modify our agreement." Where had that come from? But, the words couldn't be truer.

This time, she was speechless.

"My knee hurts - let's sit." He led her to the settee and eased down beside her, setting the crutches to the side. "I'll be very frank. I like your company, but I don't love you and won't."

"I know," she cut in. "I know you love Anna."

Perhaps best to avoid that comment. "Honestly, I am doubtful that your feelings for me are what you think. You aren't used to someone watching out for you, and perhaps I'm coming across stronger than I mean."

"Mark, don't placate me. You think it's a schoolgirl crush." Her cheeks burned red and she held up her hands. "I won't overstep - "

"Tanya." He eased her hand down. "I'm not downplaying your emotions. You're confusing them for affection. I'm brash and uncouth and quite unpleasant - you'd be daft to have feelings for someone like that."

She nodded. "I think you're right."

He sighed through his nose. The woman seemed willing to say anything to retract her confession last night. "I have a proposition for you to consider. I like having you around and the space that we give each other. I would request that we sleep in the same bedchamber..." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he looked away for a moment. "You know I find you attractive."

"You do?" The chit smiled, the blush in her cheeks so becoming.

A grunt served as the reply and he cleared his throat. The damn woman made him entirely too soft. "You're not finding companionship somewhere else," he growled.

Her eyebrows rose. "I wasn't planning on it, but I thought you said those were your terms."

"If you aren't happy with us adhering to our vows, then I'll leave for the country estate in the morning," he huffed.

She smiled. "Yes, Mark." And then she turned ten shades of red as it seemed to dawn. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Clearing his throat, he scowled to keep away a flush of embarrassment. "Needs are to be satisfied within the marriage eventually," he barked.

"Oh." Those big brown eyes blinked.

'Oh'? A blush or even a shocked look would've been better than 'oh.' The damn chit should've been pleased. He pressed his lips together. "I'm not demanding an heir."

Her brow furrowed. "I didn't think you were."

So that hadn't been the reason behind the 'oh.' Great. That was a wonderful ego boost. "We'd take multiple precautions to ensure there isn't a babe. But I do demand that you don't terminate any pregnancy if there is an accident. I wouldn't shirk my responsibilities as a father," he snapped.

"I wouldn't terminate a pregnancy."

"This would be a physical relationship," he huffed. "I'm not vowing love or sush nonsense. If you reject this proposal, things stand as they are." He rested his hands on his thighs and sat up straight.

She smiled. "Yes, Mark."

The damn chit wasn't supposed to be grinning. "And we're to keep sharing meals too," he barked.

"Of course, Mark."

"Don't call me that," he growled. She had this way of making his name roll off her tongue like a wife.

"Yes, dear." She folded her hands over her belly, looking so perfectly sweet.

"Or that!" Goddammit, he wasn't supposed to be the one blushing during this conversation!

"Then what should I call you? You've ruled out your name, 'my lord' and 'dear.' Should I call you 'my dragon'? You certainly breathe fire but have a soft underbelly like a dragon." Her eyes twinkled.

"No! Don't call me anything!" He snatched his crutches.

But her smile didn't leave. "What changed your mind about this?"

"Because you hold up to my temper, goddammit, woman!" he bellowed and stomped the crutches.

She giggled in that fairy-like way. "It's cute when you get frustrated with me."

His jaw dropped. What the hell?!

A knock interrupted.

"Come in!" He roared and heaved to his feet, eager for an interruption from this blasted woman.

Brigands poked his head in. "My lord, MR. Wixom to see you. Shall I show him to the study, sir?"

"Yes."

The man bowed and left.

He turned to the blasted woman. "I have to take this call about the bank. I'll see you at dinner," he snapped.

She stood, set a hand on his shoulder and raised onto her toes. He found himself lowering his head for the chit and accepting a peck on the cheek. "Don't be too long or I'll miss you."

A pang hit deep inside. His eyes followed as she walked to the door. Such a short time apart and he'd be missed. A warmth blossomed in his chest.

At the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. And smiled like she expected him to still be staring. Then she slipped out.

God bless it! The blasted woman never failed to leave him as speechless as a village idiot! With a growl of frustration, he stomped a crutch.

* * *

The stairs felt like an eternity by nine o'clock after the grueling meeting. Tanya must be in bed because the lights were all out downstairs. The woman likely would stay in her chambers for a few days or weeks after the proposition this morning. The goddamn sleepless nights would be back. Sharing a bed a couple times made him too damn dependent on the chit to sleep. He banged his bedroom door open, muttering under his breath. And stopped in his tracks.

Tanya sat in bed reading by candlelight in a white nightgown with her hair loose...thick hair that cascaded over her shoulders and begged to have fingers run through the silky locks. The tresses led right down to where her belly swelled and fit the homely scene perfectly. His side of the bed had been turned down and his nightclothes had been lain out. "Hello," he said dumbly. Christ, she looked too beautiful to be real. Heat rushed between his legs. He snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat. And scowled at the chit. Now instead of not sleeping all night, he'd be not sleeping and uncomfortable.

She smiled and set down the book on the nightstand, apparently not at all startled by the interruption. "You look tired." She got up.

He hobbled over to his side of the bed and eased onto the edge, stretching his bad knee across the sheets to calm the throbbing. Why the hell was she in here? He ran a hand over his face. It was exhaustion causing hallucinations. The crutches pulled out of his grasp.

She set them aside and then unlaced his shoe. Like a damn wife.

Swinging his leg down, he growled, "I'll see to it."

But the chit only smiled. "You should not be stretching your leg that much yet. Behave and let me do it. I promise not to ravish you." She sat on the bed with his foot in her lap.

Dear god, if only she would to get this insanity out of his system. The nightgown outlined the roundness of her belly perfectly. He stared at her belly so close to his leg. A woman with child wasn't supposed to set a man's blood on fire. Stripping off her nightclothes would be like Christmas - unwrapping to discover luscious curves enhanced by the babe influencing her body. He crushed handfuls of the sheets. The urge to tear off her clothes and sink into her burned hotter.

"Mark?"

His eyes flew to her face.

"I'm teasing about ravishing you. You don't have to look so tense." Her eyes twinkled.

The chit was laughing at him! Clenching his teeth, he glared. Just bed the chit. God knows his loins screamed for it.

"How was your meeting?" She got up and took his shoes to set near the door.

Yes, take her now. He turned to grab the crutches. She'd set them just out of reach. Pushing himself up, he stood to grab them.

"No, you stay in bed. Your knee is swollen." A small hand tugged his sleeve.

Gladly. He plunked onto the bed and reached for her.

She caught his hands and frowned. Then she dropped them to feel his forehead. "You're flushed. Do you have a fever?" Then she felt his hands again.

"No!" The word barked out and he reached for her.

But she leaned down and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh, I hope you don't have influenza. Dr. Englewood said it's that season again." Then she pressed her cool hand against his bare chest. "Goodness, your heart is beating fast. Lie down and get some rest?" She pulled off his shirt.

"What? No! Goddammit - "

"You shouldn't swear so much. And that word is a sin." The chit swung his legs up on the bed.

What the hell? It wasn't influenza, it was needing to bed a woman! "If - " His words cut off when she stripped off his pantaloons, the brush over his manhood wonderful agony. A groan escaped.

"See? You're achy. Oh dear." She stopped and looked at where he throbbed painfully hard.

The chit sounded disappointed. His eyes flew to her. There was nothing for her to be disappointed about! He was well endowed!

"I heard that when men come down with a fever it makes swelling."

What?!

She pulled up the sheets and tucked him in. "I'll be right back." Then she swept out of the room in a whirlwind.

His head still spun when she came back with rags and some ice.

"Here, this will help, you poor thing." In the blink of an eye, she whipped back the sheets and plunked the ice between his legs.

A yelp and curse didn't stop her from then laying cold rags on his chest, knee and forehead. "You go to sleep. I'll come check on you in a bit." Then she left.

"What the hell?!" he roared in frustration and flung the rags and ice to the floor. Surging to his feet, he grabbed the crutches and stormed into the hall.

She hurried back, a hand supporting her belly as the nightgown floated behind her. "What's wrong? Did you call for me?" Worry tinted her eyes.

The moment she got within arm's reach, he grabbed her arm and tugged her against him. His mouth crushed down on hers as his fingers buried in her hair at the back of her head. The other hand swept over the swell of her belly that prevented pulling her fully against his body. The fire lapped hotter into smoldering flames. He pressed her up against the wall, her soft gasp as his hands stroked her belly and caressed her breasts made the last coherent thoughts fly out the window.

"Mark?"

The slight tremor in her voice doused the flames. He leaned his hands against the wall on each side of her, at some point having dropped the crutches. Bowing his head, his chest heaved yet. She was frightened. And he was being a beast accosting her in the hall like some trumpet. The woman feared intimacy because of the assault and didn't deserve this.

"Are you hallucinating from the fever? I'm not Anna." Confusion and concern etched her voice.

That knife in the back was one of his own making. Guilt mounted. Somewhere along the line, he'd reinforced the lies of others that she wasn't desirable. And then came the guilt of wanting another woman after Anna. "I know you're not Anna," he growled and pushed away from the wall, snatching up the crutches.

"I don't understand."

"Go to bed," he ordered.

"Should I come check on you?" She wrapped her arms around herself.

For some reason, being responsible for her feeling that vulnerable and uncertain that she had to hug herself made his heart ache. With each beat. "No." He turned away.

SIlence.

He turned just as she turned the corner of the hall, her head down and her arms still hugging herself. Her nightgown fluttered out of sight. Moments ago she'd looked like a beautiful angel come to offer salvation. Now she looked like an angel struck down.

He didn't want to think about what had made him follow her out to the hall naked and on crutches like an ass. Or what kept his feet rooted to the ground staring after her for a long time.

* * *

She walked past his office the next day after some men left. He dropped his head on the desk. Stepping in the doorway, she hesitated for a moment. He'd been ill last night - that's probably all that had been about. He hadn't meant to use her as a way to take out his grief of not having Anna around to take care of him when he was sick. Today could be a fresh start. "Mark? Are you alright?"

He sat up and ran his hands over his handsome face. "That was the worst negotiation I've ever had."

The man seemed willing to talk, so she walked in and sat in a chair across his desk. "What kind of negotiation?"

"The worst sort - I had to convince him, a major founder, that it will be most profitable to him to not raise the loan interest rates at the bank."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You are the one who has been keeping the rates low?"

"My accountants give me the statistics. I just make it happen what we think is best for the people."

"Mark, your bank is known for its superb rates, service, lucrativity...I thought you had a board who determined all of this. It's you?"

"The job is twenty-four-seven a week. Well, twenty-eight if that was possible - it certainly feels like I work more than not. With the babe coming, I think it's best to sell out. It's too hard and an uphill battle competing with the King's banks. I've fought the fight for years, and I'm tired."

"But you can't quit! Mark, your bank gives loans to people like m! People who have two shillings but need a home - "

He met her eyes. "Yes, I know, Mr. Samuel Hartwig."

Her blood ran cold. He knew about the forgery loan. A crime punishable by death.

"Do you think I don't know every client who comes into my bank?"

Oh god. "We paid every last pence back. Father ruined us with his drinking and the collectors were going to take the house. I paid interest to the bank. I was only twenty-three - "

He held up a hand. "I know. I found it odd that a son had suddenly appeared and took out a loan to pay his father's debt. I looked into your loan when it crossed my desk. I figured out what was going on three days after you came in asking for the loan. You never defaulted on payments, so I let it slide. You realize that you could've been hanged for fraud if I would've reported you," he said in all seriousness.

She looked away, the shame swimming up. "I worked three jobs and it didn't come close to Papa's debt. I was desperate. I had tried the poorhouse, but they knew of my heritage and wouldn't help," she said quietly. "The guise at the bank was my last hope."

He leaned forward. "Samuel Hartwig never stepped foot in my bank. I never authorized a loan because he never existed, understood? I burned the files the minute you made the final payment. I also committed fraud handing a loan to a men with no birth record or identification."

Her eyes widened. "Mr. Black," she whispered. The memory slammed. The accountant had asked for identification at the time of the loan when she had returned to pick up the loan. Of course there had been none for 'Samuel,' so he had called in for 'Mr. Black,' whom she had thought would come arrest her. She'd kept her head down to hide her face and had not seen Mr Black, but the voice was familiar now.

"'Mr. Black' is code for fraudulent applicant. I was intrigued and let you walk out with the money." She must've still looked distraught because he held her eyes. "I'm not going to send you to the gallows. Even if I did, I'd be dancing next to you."

"I meant no harm - "

"I know. And because this woman walked into my bank, willing to risk everything because of the straights she was in, I decided to keep chugging along at the bank on the chance I could make a difference to more people. It's just becoming exhausting and more impossible each day." He sighed and sat back.

Strain did etch his face. "It would be nice to actually have you home when you're home. What did you do with the twelve hours I was in meetings yesterday?"

She shrugged. "It was a quiet day. I read another chapter of your statistics book from university, but then my head hurt so I gave up."

The man actually cracked a smile. "My head hurt having a professor explain it to me."

"Liar. You have calculus and a dozen other books that I couldn't understand."

The man actually blushed. "It's far easier to understand at university with professors teaching it."

Perhaps switching to another topic would be best. "Did you do your knee exercises last night?"

"It's none of your concern." He shifted.

A smile tugged. "Come, you won't get better if you don't strengthen your leg. I'll help you." The man, however, grunted. "Are you shy?"

"No." He folded his arms over his chest. Like a pout.

"You are! The infamous marquess who argues with the King himself in Parliament - "

"Who said that?" He huffed in outrage.

She giggled. "I scanned years of newspapers, Mark. I ran across an article or two about how you're the only man without fear of the King. And rumor says he respects you for it. If you can argue him, you can certainly do exercises in front of me."

"You're just going to be an irritating nag around my neck if I don't, aren't you?" he snapped.

With a grin, she tested her hands over her belly.

The man huffed in indignation and pushed his chair back. "I don't know why the hell I took a wife. A damn nuisance and irritation is what a woman is." He grabbed the crutches to go upstairs.

But she just smiled and walked around the desk. "You have it so rough having a woman who is trying to help you heal." Then she set a hand on his back and walked beside him. She walked up the steps ahead and held the railing. Then she fell into step again at the top of the stairs. The man didn't seem inclined to offer any conversation. By the time of reaching the bedroom, she couldn't keep quiet. "I don't know how you carried me. Or how you walked, for that matter."

He growled. "I don't know either - you weigh a ton."

She stopped and blinked. A smile tugged at his lips. "Oh, you have a sense of humor." She smiled. "It's a good thing you're balanced well on your crutches."

"Why?" He frowned. And got a pillow in the face.

A giggle bubbled up. The man stood there with a shocked expression and the pillow at his feet beside the bed. A scream of surprise tore out when two pillows flew at her.

"I always won snowball fights."

She laughed and dug out of the pile. "You're in for a run for your money. I throw pretty well myself."

"Yes, but you're a girl." He shrugged.

Her mouth fell open in offense. And then the man threw back his head and let out this unfamiliar sound. It took a moment to realize he was belly laughing. She smiled at the beautiful warm sound.

"As soon as I'm off these crutches, _you_ are in a run for your money." He smiled, years lifting from his face and his eyes twinked with happiness. He looked so different...so carefree. And all she could do was stare at the amazing metamorphosis. But sadness swept over him and his smile faded. "It's been a long time since I've had reason to laugh," he said quietly. Pain and loneliness returned to his eyes.

She walked over and cupped his cheek. He needed compassion and human contact right this moment with his walls down. "You'll find a woman one day who will take away the pain and loneliness. You'll be happy again one day." As he pulled her into his arms and she laid her head on his chest to offer comfort, heartache beat stronger. If only she could've been that woman.

He needed to rest his leg for a few minutes after the exercises, so he remained lying on the bed. She laid down on her side without touching. "Mark?"

The man grunted.

"That proposition...when would it start?"

He shifted and sighed. "Being monogamous would start immediately. The other part would come in its own time."

She rolled over to face him, and his head turned to her. "I think I will take your proposition. I have one condition. This is a marriage of convenience and honor, so I will keep the boundaries you set. My condition is you can't fall in love with me."

"Yes, madam."

"I'm serious." He would be more emotional than he expected the first time making love after Anna. She wouldn't accept false declarations made in the moment. He'd made it more than clear that he wouldn't love another woman.

He snorted a smothered laugh. "I promise not to fall in love with you."

"And one more condition." She yawned.

He cocked an eyebrow.

"The bed is free ground."

"Hm?"

Draping a leg over his and a hand on his chest, she cuddled up to him.

He tensed. "What are you doing?" he growled.

"I didn't sleep well without you. Just a nap for ten minutes." She yawned again.

"Only because the babe may act up again if you don't have sufficient rest," he grumbled.

"Yes, Mark." She smiled and closed her eyes.

"And not for long," he growled.

"No, Mark," she sighed in a dreamy state, already relaxing.

His hand rested over the babe.

She smiled. This was better. This was so safe and warm for a nap.


	11. Chapter 11

She laid on her side in bed the next morning and blinked in confusion. A strong arm draped over her hip. Her leg draped over his thigh and her hands curled up under her chin against a bare chest. Her nightgown had ridden up, and something warm and firm pressed between her legs. Quite pleasantly. Trying to scoot back only created friction that made her breath hitch in pleasure.

Mark groaned and shifted closer.

Her eyes bugged. Mark had worn nightclothes instead of his usual pantaloons - and he had slipped out of the slit. And preassure built against her flesh.

The man shifted and he pressed in the most exquisite way, his hips gradually arching as he groaned in sleepy desire.

"Mark," she gasped, grabbing his shoulder as her leg tightened around him of its own accord, drawing him tighter. He wasn't aware and wouldn't want this to happen, but dear heaven she did.

He gave a deep, male sigh of ecstasy and cupped her bottom as he began to roll on top of her.

Heat rushed and her heart pounded, making it impossible to breath fast enough. There was nothing frightening or painful about it with him. Her fingers bit into his shoulders and pulled him closer. Maybe he was aware and did want to evoke their agreement. Her heart soared with hope. This was romantic and gentle. Surely he'd kiss at any moment. She closed her eyes and wasn't afraid because it was Mark.

The moment he started to roll onto her belly, his eyes shot open. "Oh shit!" He shot off the bed and stumbled back against the dresser as he shoved himself back in his pants. The dresser rocked off its front legs and hit the wall from his force before it slammed down on its legs. He grabbed it to support his bad knee. The man looked wild with mussed hair and huge eyes. "Christ, I'm sorry. I thought I was dreaming..." He ran his hands over his face. "Are you hurt?"

She sat up in embarrassment and pulled up the sheets. "No. I thought that...um..."

He held out a hand and shook his head. "No. No, no, no, no." His forefinger wiggled at her. "This is not me acting on our agreement. Lord!" His head dropped back against the wall.

"Are you alright?"

His hands ran over his face. "Sleeping in the same room isn't wise."

Getting up, she went to him. "Come sit - it's not good for your knee to stand." The man seemed reluctant but let her lead him to the bed. She stood before him. "Now, I have no objections to it that we...just...had sex." Her cheeks burned.

A snort interrupted as she propped up his leg on the bed. "That was _not_ sex."

She frowned and met his eyes. "But you were...and you touched me."

"Woman, you will know when we have sex. That was...a rubbing. I didn't even enter."

Her eyebrows rose and she. sat on the bed. "You mean it feels better than that?"

"If that's how good I am, I should be shot," he snorted.

"Oh my," she whispered.

"And we will do it as nature intended."

"How's that?" Goodness, this was curious.

"Without clothes."

"Oh." Oh my. If something could burst into flames, her face posed serious risk of doing so. Then she touched her scars. Being naked would mean he'd see those in full view.

His blue eyes rolled. "It is thickened tissue, nothing more. If you're so bothered, my knee looks like Frankenstein - you can focus on how ugly that looks," he snorted.

"It's not ugly," she frowned, "it's honorable."

He gave a dry look.

She smiled. "You are welcome to dream about me any morning." Then she popped up and grabbed her fresh clothes laid out over the chair last night.

"You aren't going to rant at me for taking advantage of you?"

He didn't deny it being her he dreamed about this time. "Why?" she asked from within the expansive closet to change for privacy. "You enjoyed it, I enjoyed it...and it's not like I can get pregnant."

"What are you doing?"

"The doctor is coming at nine o'clock to remove your sutures. Don't look."

"Why?" He grumbled in a low voice, as if to himself. "It's not like I haven't seen everything."

"I heard that!" She called from around the door.

"It's not as if I only think of - "

She backed up a step and bent over to pick up her dress that fell on the floor.

"Sex." The word came out strangled...as if full of lust.

With a frown of confusion, she straightened and looked over her shoulder. Right at Mark. "Oh!" Whipping her dress up to cover herself, she darted back in the closet.

* * *

The chit fretted so much when Englewood arrived that he let her stay just to shut her up. He sat in bed with the sheets over his lap and his knee exposed for the suture removal while she hovered and patted his hand.

"Does it hurt?" The wench fretted and rubbed his arm.

He shook her off. "No! My head is what is starting to hurt!"

The woman blinked and then frowned, finally getting the point. "Oh, I'll go get a cold rag." Or perhaps not. She bustled out.

The doctor chuckled. "She doesn't know what sutures feel like - she just trying to help."

"Hurry up and cut them. Or kill me before she returns," he growled.

Englewood just laughed and continued taking his time. "She's good for you."

"She's the death of me."

"A sweet girl. Seems very fond of you."

"Daft is what she seems like," he grumbled.

When she returned, Mark snapped, "I said it will be fine!"

"You need surgery!" Dr. Englewood looked ready to strangle him.

"It just needs more time, you quack!"

"Mark!" She gasped. "Calm yourself." Then she turned to the doctor. "What happens if he doesn't have surgery?"

"His knee keeps healing with more and more adhesions, locking it up so he can't bend it anymore."

Mark snorted.

She turned to him. "You disagree and think time will heal it?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Cutting it open will create more scar tissue. Forcing increased range of motion will break the adhesions on their own."

A glance at the doctor said otherwise. "The level of adhesions he has won't be fixed by exercise. At best, it'll leave him with a cane."

"But there is no harm in waiting?" She glanced between the two men, who both seemed ready for a duel.

Dr. Englewood shrugged. "He simply delays the inevitable."

She looked at Mark. He wouldn't be pressed in his present mood. "What exactly should be seen at this stage?"

"Nearly full range of motion," the doctor replied. He bent up Mark's knee far less than half way and nodded toward Mark.

The poor man grit his teeth, clearly in great pain. "It will come," he panted through his teeth.

She walked the doctor to the front door. "Thank you for coming. I'll try to convince him." Then she handed over his top hat and coat.

"Do. He's just prolonging the healing and causing himself undue pain."

"Yes, but I think he needs to come to the realization on his own. He can use a cane now instead of crutches?"

"He can, but he'll have more difficulty getting around with it than crutches. Do not tire yourself out with him - the babe needs rest too." Then he gave a nod goodnight and departed.

When she returned upstairs, Mark leaned on a cane and wore only pantaloons. The man limped heavily trying to make it to the washroom. His stiff knee, still swollen from limited movement, could barely bend. He threw a glare over his shoulder, as if warning to keep quiet, and kept going.

"I wish you'd reconsider, Mark."

"No," he snarled.

"Why?"

"Because it will heal on its - "

"No, what is your real reason?"

He sti

He stilled and threw a cold look that froze the words on her lips before he continued his laborious journey to the washroom.

She followed. "Mark!" Her hand caught the door as he shut it. "Mark, talk to me."

"It's daylight, isn't it?" he snapped.

"What?"

"Get in your own room," he snarled and slammed the door.

Mark kept to his room all day, so she finally posed a question to Brigands as she made extra dinner with him to take home for his ailing wife. "So, Mark won't let the doctor operate." She sighed.

He nodded and kept peeling potatoes.

"Why?"

"It's not my place to say, my lady."

"Please, call me Tanya," she pleaded again. "I don't like all the 'my lady' and 'marchioness.' I'm lower bred than most - "

"And classier than even duchesses," he interjected.

Her cheeks flushed at the sweet compliment. "Still, it's not right. I'm sure I should actually be 'sir'-ing you."

"No." He cracked a smile. "Besides the master would have my head. You're a high-born lady now. You can forget the past, but never forget to look back from time to time." When she paused and looked at him in question, he continued. "Your past does not define your future, but never forget what you made it through to get there. I believe it's those who look back are the ones who remain kind and humble."

She smiled. "Why, Brigands, you are a philosopher. I think those are the wisest words I've ever heard." Then she resumed washing the potatoes. "I think perhaps you should tell Mark those words. Is he afraid of surgery?"

"No."

"Does he have some kind of medical condition?"

"Fit as a horse."

"He just believes he's correct about his own diagnosis?" She frowned.

"He knows the surgeon is correct."

Her eyebrows rose. "So, what?"

He looked at her. "Even if the master terminates my employment, my duty is to be loyal for the years I was in service. Don't make me break that."

"Brigands," she said softly, "my concern is for him. He is causing himself pain and possibly further damaging his knee. Have you seen him walk with the cane? He barely can. He will be crippled without surgery." When the older man bit his lip in hesitation, she added, "Do you wish for him to be like that permanently?"

His shoulders sagged in defeat. "He took My Lady Anna for surgery - cut off her breasts - too late." His voice fell to a solemn, quiet tone.

She gasped in horror, never having heard of such barbarism.

"No, my lady, it has saved women. It is somewhat of a newer theory, but it has worked. He tried everything else first. Lady Anna agreed to it. A terrible surgery, but he made sure she was not awake for days until the worst of the pain passed. He found the best surgeon for it. It's not as horrific as it sounds."

"He did it because he thought it would save her?"

"Yes. The cancer weakened her, the surgeries even more, and then...the master grew desperate. He...he prolonged her death, in hindsight. She was a living corpse by the end." His misty eyes met hers. "It is his punishment to himself to not take surgery that he needs because he did surgery on her too late. Not even weeks later, her belly began to swell with cancer. By that time, she knew it was too late." A tear crept down his wrinkled cheek. "The moment she said she wanted him to stop and let her die, he did. It ripped out his heart and he wept nonstop until she died in his arms two days later." He sniffled and seemed to remember himself, squaring his shoulders and turning to peel potatoes.

She brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. "It's madness that he's punishing himself. How could he have known that he operated too late?"

"He believes he should've known - he was a doctor. He went to university to learn how to save people." Brigands turned his head and met her eyes. "I think it drove him to madness, to a degree, to be able to save others but not able to do anything for the one he would've traded his life for. I saw him a few months after her came back after her death." The loyal man didn't allude to the asylum. "He's never been the same...since you've arrived, he's finally putting on weight. He's even animated enough now to rip everyone's heads off." A smile touched Brigand's lips. "I don't mind because it means he can feel something again, even if it's anger. And anger is a step toward healing."

Brigands took up dinner and returned. "He expects you in thirty minutes and, um, without much talking." He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What were his exact words?"

He wouldn't quite meet her eyes. "Not ones meant for a lady's ears. A good heart does lie beneath, my lady."

Once she saw Brigands off with a meal for his wife, she turned off the lights and headed upstairs. Mark laid in bed with his eyes closed and ice on his knee. She tiptoed in and stripped to her chemise to go to sleep.

"Fetch my bag."

She startled and spun around. He looked at her through pained eyes. "What do you need?" She dug his medical bag out of the closet.

"A syringe and soapy rag."

So she got both and sat on the edge of the bed as he sat up and set aside the ice. "What are you doing?" Her heart beat faster when he bent his knee as much as possible and cleaned a spot with the rag.

"The damn pressure is making me insane," he grunted.

The blood drained from her face when he inserted the needle far into his knee with a grunt of pain.

"Get a bandage."

Dragging her eyes away, she walked over to his bag and sank to her knees as the room spun.

"Deep breath, slow release," he ordered.

She did and the room stilled. Grabbing a bandage, she pulled herself up.

"Don't turn around yet." A moment later he said, "Alright."

She took the bandage over to him, trying to ignore the bloody fluid in the syringe on the nightstand.

"Better?" When she nodded, he wrapped his leg and frowned. "How did you sit through an entire knee surgery?"

"I didn't look."

"Then why stay if it wasn't to help?" He continued wrapping.

"In case you needed me."

"I was unconscious."

"What if something had happened?"

He met her eyes at that countered response. "You didn't need to stay." His tone took on a gentler note.

"I wanted to." She shrugged and met his eyes.

He looked at her for a long minute.

A flush crept up. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing." The man pushed himself up. Scooping up the supplies, he grabbed the cane and limped to the washroom.

"I can do that."

The man threw the words over his shoulder, "I prefer not to rescue a fainting damsel in distress tonight."

Her mouth fell open in offense. "I can have a strong stomach if I have to!"

A chuckle floated from the bathroom.

She climbed in bed and got settled with a smile. When he limped out, a pinched look of pain crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Mark, you look like you hurt. Wouldn't cutting the adhesions feel better?" But a dark look flung her way as he got in bed. "Does it have to do with Anna?" She frowned. He didn't deserve to hurt like this.

He froze and growled the words deep in his chest with an icy coldness. "You come in here to sleep, nothing else." Then he finished settling in bed.

"I just think it's ashame to ruin a body like this," she purred and draped herself against him, her lips inches from his. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she looked into his wide eyes. "Mark?" she purred.

The man lifted her off. "Don't climb on me like a child," he snapped and jerked up the sheets.

She wrapped her leg around his good one and stroked his muscular arm. "You are a cranky man." A smile bloomed and her hand strayed downward.

He practically jumped two feet. And fell off the bed.

"Mark!" She peeped over the edge. "Are you alright?"

"Goddammit! What the hell is wrong with you?!" He pushed himself up awkwardly

When she got up to help and took his arm, he jerked it away. "I'm sorry. I meant to tease you, Mark."

"Do I look like a damn playmate?! Get in bed!" The man got in bed and jerked up the covers, holding his hip that he must've landed on.

Walking around to her side, she bit her lip. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I was just trying to get you to smile. If it would make you feel better, we can..."

He stopped and looked at her with eyebrows touching the clouds. "You're horny?! This is because you're horny?!"

She frowned. "What's horny?"

"What you are," he snapped.

"Oh," she said in confusion.

"Good Lord, get in bed. We're not having sex."

She got in and he turned off the lantern. "Mark? Is it bad to be horny? Is that why people don't like me?"

Silence for a moment. "Horny is wanting sex."

Rolling to face him in the dark, she pursed her lips. "I don't want sex. I thought you did."

"No," he grumbled and muttered something.

"Are you angry with me?"

He growled.

"Oh," she said with a heavy heart and stayed on her side of the bed. There wasn't much worse than going to bed with hard feelings from someone. But then lots of people didn't like her...but this was Mark.

He shifted.

She tucked her hands under her cheek and rolled away to stare out the window. Snowflakes floated down in the crisp winter air, setting a romantic, nostalgic mood. Yet, she wouldn't trade being anywhere else than with this cranky bear.

An arm slipped around and pulled her back against a hard chest. "Sometimes I need a fit. I'm not used to having anyone around," he said gruffly.

Lacing her fingers with his over her belly, she smiled. "I know." Silence. "Is your knee up for going outside?"

"Now? It's almost midnight."

"The perfect time for a moonlit walk in the snow. We won't go far, and the cold might help your knee feel better." She popped up and pulled on a dress.

"You're serious?"

She dug out a sweater from his closet. "Here." Then she tossed it at the bed and dug out stockings for him. "You need more warm clothes. I - " The words died on her lips when she looked at him.

He stared at the sweater in his lap. A tear slipped down his cheek. "She made this on her last Christmas. We didn't know she was sick yet," he whispered. "She was so proud of it - she couldn't knit to save her life." He smiled, lost in the memory.

"Should I put it back? Maybe tonight isn't a good night to wear it." She walked over and stroked the corner of what was so precious to him. When he nodded, she traded it for a different sweater.

The man was silent in sad reflection still outside. "Mark?" She leaned forward to look at him while she walked on his arm, wearing his cloak at his insistence to cover her belly. "She wouldn't want you to still mourn her so deeply."

But his gaze remained focused on the ground. "When you lose the one you're meant for, it feels like your heart is ripped out of your chest and you're left to live with a gaping wound that bleeds no matter what you do," he said softly. "To live without your heart feels like unyielding torture without any hope of escape."

To be loved that much only existed in fairytales...or so she'd always thought. An ache formed deep inside to know no one would ever love her like that. But the ache was even deeper seeing him in such pain. Turning to face him, she took his gloved hand. "Do you want to talk about her?"

He simply shook his head with a broken heart.

She stood on her toes and gently pulled him down. Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him. For the first time, he held on tight and buried his face against her neck...as he quietly wept. She held on and stroked his hair as the snow drifted down. The infamous, murderous, insane Mark Debonairo fell apart in her arms.

When he quieted minutes later, he turned away and brushed at his eyes. She caught his arm. Reaching down her neck collar, she pulled out her own handkerchief used to hide her scarred breasts. "You have been judged enough. Let yourself be sad. Goodness, you're getting frostbite on your cheeks." Pulling off her gloves, she set her hands over his damp, red cheeks. An unfamiliar, gentle look overcame his eyes. "Mark?"

His head lowered and his lips brushed in a tender kiss. When he pulled back, most of the grief was gone. Something besides grief reflected in his eye. "Let's do something fun."

She blinked. "Like what?" A laugh bubbled up.

"A snowball fight."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up.

He bent down and made a snowball.

"Oh ho, no." She backed up with a smile.

The man straightened and tossed it in his hand, a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "One..."

"Mark!" she squealed.

"Two..."

She took off trotting through the powdery fluff and grabbed a handful of snow. Something plopped against her bottom. "Cheater! You didn't say, 'three'!"

He laughed, the sound rich and deep and carefree. "You girl! You don't get warning - " A snowball planted in the center of his chest.

With a laugh, she scampered away.

Snowballs soon flew through the air. Although he hit his target more often than her, his pelts hit gentle and he gave chances for escape. "Careful you don't fall!" he called when she ran from him and toward the barn.

Running around the corner of the barn with a squeal, she slammed to a halt. Her heart shot into her throat coming almost face-to-face with a snarling, foaming coyote. It foamed far, far too much.

"Tanya?" He chuckled and his labored footsteps crunched through the snow. "Wh - "

Shaking with fear, her feet anchored to the ground in uncertainty.

"Back up," he whispered. "Very slowly."

Slipping a foot back under her skirt so the coyote wouldn't see, her heart pounded wildly. "Mark?" His name came out in a quivering whisper.

"I know, he's rabid." He inched sideways out of the corner of her eye toward an axe near the barn.

The coyote snarled and leapt straight for her. And she screamed and threw up an arm.

Mark darted in front of her, swinging his cane up just in time. The coyote caught it in its mouth and snapped it, taking Mark to the ground. "Get the axe!" he yelled.

She ran for it, her fingers curling around the moment Mark screamed. Whirling, she screamed and swung as the coyote stumbled toward her. The axe knicked the beast's side that was covered in blood. Blood that couldn't be the coyote's. The animal stumbled and recovered, not even seeming to register pain. Mark scrambled over and grabbed the axe from the ground just as the coyote lunged. Mark fell backwards as the wolf landed on his chest.

Darting over, she reached to drag the limp beast off of him.

"No!"

She startled and jerked a hand back.

"Don't touch any blood." He shoved the dead coyote off, the axe buried in its throat. As he sat up, blood blossomed across his ivory sweater over his belly. "Go to the neighbor's...send for the doctor," he said weakly. Blood dripped into the snow.

Pulling off the cape, she laid it over him. "Press." Tears fell and panic gave the strength to rip off strips of the petticoats as bandages. "You'll bleed out."

He pressed the cape to his belly and took the bandages. "Go," he whispered, his face growing as pale as the snow. "Go south. North...could have...highwaymen..."

She took off running and looked over her shoulder. Mark laid in a heap, already unconscious, surrounded by a red halo in the snow. Her legs pumped and she held her belly, her lungs burning from the cold air. Jack Frost bit through the thin dress, rapidly numbing the hot burn in her calves. "Help!" She screamed as she got closer to the house. "Help! A rabid coyote!"

The light in the house turned on upstairs. Hope flickered. She screamed again. The front door opened and a man stepped out in his nightclothes with a lantern.

"Send for the doctor! My husband was attacked by a rabid coyote! He's bleeding out!" She panted, almost ready to faint from breathing so hard when she reached him.

He eyed her belly. "You're Debonairo's woman?"

"His wife. Please, ride for the surgeon. I cannot go fast enough." She sank onto the step, her belly cramping in protest from the abuse.

"About time the Devil came for him," the man spat and shut the door.

"NO! Please!" She dragged herself to the door and banged her fists against the wood. Tears streamed down. "Please! He's dying!"

"Mistress?" A female whispered. She looked up at a young girl who peeked out a window. "The mayor lives just down the road, he does. Hurry!"

Dragging herself to her feet, she grit her teeth against the pain and clutched her belly, pushing herself to a run again. It took forever to run across fields of white, stumbling into deep snowbanks too many times to remember. The moon cast enough glow to reveal a cottage in the distance. That had to be the mayor's house.

She fell against the door and banged a fist, her lungs burning almost as much as her belly.

An older man opened the door in his long underwear, and she fell into his arms. "Marchioness?" He pulled her inside and laid her on the floor.

"Mark...attacked...by rabid coyote...Get doctor," she panted and clutched her belly.

"Boys!" He bellowed and grabbed his cloak.

Two teenage boys stumbled down the stairs, along with an older woman.

"You two go for the surgeon. Debonairo was attacked by a rabid coyote. Martha, watch that the girl doesn't deliver the babe. Fast now!"

She tried to get up. "I'm...coming."

"No, you're frozen and with child. You stay." The mayor and boys left.

Now that help was on the way, tears coursed down. The mayor's wife helped her up. "Dear, come warm the babe by the fire. Your husband is too ornery to die. Here, I'll make some tea and get you a blanket." She sat her in a rocking chair before the fire.

"It's my fault. I wanted to go out in the snow. Then the coyote came..." She burst into tears and rubbed her cramping belly.

"There, there. It was an accident." The woman set a kettle on the stove and lit the oven.

Oh god, the cramps grew worse. "I think the babe is coming." Not now. Mark needed her and it was too early.

"You're distressed and tired from running." The woman pressed a glass of water into her hand and felt the babe. "Labor has sweeping contractions. Drink and you'll be fine."

"He jumped in front of us to save us," she wept.

"Sure, dear. He'll be fine."

"No, he did! It tried to attack me twice and - "

"You've been wandering in the cold. The beast doesn't even give you proper clothes to keep warm," she scolded.

"I gave him my cape to keep warm," she sniffled, the tears coming faster from having to defend Mark when he'd been a hero.

The woman didn't seem to hear as she pulled up a chair. "Dear, sometimes things happen for a reason. People sometimes get what's coming to them."

"He's a good man!" She rubbed the babe, who refused to quiet.

But the mayor's wife just eyed her belly. "Dear, a good man would not kill his wife and take on a new one for...you know."

"What?" She blinked in confusion.

She looked at the scandalous display of bosom. "For satisfying appetites when she's in a delicate way on top of it." The woman patted her back.

But he hadn't taken advantage. And he couldn't get a dressmaker to come out, probably because of his reputation. And she wasn't decent because she'd used the handkerchief to dry his tears because he'd finally opened up for a moment. He'd die because he'd been protecting her and the babe. None of it mattered to anyone else...because no one would believe it. She sobbed into her skirts.

The mayor's boys returned and tried to convince her that it was a chance to escape from her monster, her prisoner, her enslaver. It took tears and begging them before they returned her home.

She ran upstairs, holding her belly that didn't cramp quite as hard anymore. The sheriff waited outside the door, with the mayor nowhere in sight. He stopped her. "The doctor is stitching him up. He's in bad shape. Once that's done, he needs a blood transfusion from me. I think it best if you wait out here - "

She plowed through the door and cried out in horror at the terrible mapping of stitches concentrated over his belly, with some scattered here and there across his chest and arms. His knee was bandaged again like the doctor had done the surgery. The sheets matched his complexion.

The doctor glanced at her as he finished tying a stitch. "Ah, here she is. Come hold down your man. I need to give him an injection for the rabies."

Creeping closer, her heart pounded seeing him awake. His eyes didn't quite focus like he'd been drugged for the pain. Taking his bandaged hand, tears streamed down as she whispered, "Why did you do it?"

"I felt like hunting," he grunted, his words a little slurred.

A watery laugh burst out, so relieved that he was well enough for sarcasm. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Hold him down, sheriff." The doctor pulled out a very long-needled syringe.

Her head snapped up. "Hold him down?!"

"The rabies antidote is very painful. He'll need it twice a day for seventeen days."

"No," Mark spoke up. Everyone looked at him. "I'll be still." His hand tightened in hers.

Her heart lurched - he would be still if she would hold his hand.

"Alright. He's weak from the blood loss," the doctor agreed.

Mark didn't seem weak when he clutched her hands during the injection in his belly. He broke out in a sweat and spat an impressive string of curses as he clutched his stomach afterwards.

"Get a basin." The doctor packed up.

She grabbed one and handed it to the doctor.

"For Mark."

She held it out to Mark, just in time for him to sit up and get sick.

"Side effect of the vaccine," the doctor said and cleaned his glasses. He sat in a chair.

"Don't go yet," Mark gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, drawing deep breaths. The nausea seemed to pass a moment later and he laid back, so she took away the basin.

When she returned, the doctor nodded toward her. "What do you want to do about her?"

Mark grunted. "Hm?" Then he cracked his eyes open.

"She has bloodstains on her dress. Whose blood?"

He cursed and ran a hand over his face.

Looking down at the speckles of red on her blue dress, she gasped in horror. "The babe!"

"Precisely," Dr. Englewood said. "We don't know if you're infected or if the injection is safe for the babe. But if you are infected, I guarantee you'll both die without it. And where do we inject?" He looked to Mark.

Mark studied her belly. "Odds are it's the coyote's blood, so they're infected. We go from her back."

She laid on her side in bed in her chemise with the back ripped open. The sheriff held her steady while Mark and the doctor discussed where to inject.

"Ready?" Mark sat up and his good hand braced her shoulder firmly.

"Is it going into the babe?"

"No, we're going to use your body to process it for him. It burns." His hand tightened.

As soon as they finished injecting the fiery fluid, she shot upright and got sick in the fresh basin the sheriff held out. The doctor felt her pulse as Mark slipped a hand under the blanket and listened to the babe with a stethoscope. Then he frowned and felt her spasming belly. His hand slid up her chemise under the blankets to lay his hand against her bare skin. "She needs three glasses of water," he ordered.

The doctor and sheriff left without question.

His hand didn't move, the intimacy so comforting and safe. Mark would be alright, and he'd be here to make sure the babe was safe. She closed her eyes to relax.

"You ran, didn't you?" It came out like an accusation.

She blinked and looked over her shoulder at his scowl. "No, I walked because you were dying."

"Don't get smart with me, woman. Goddamn lucky you didn't birth on the side of the road, Jesus Christ."

"Just because you're angry with God doesn't mean you need to sin."

He snorted. Thankfully the sheriff and doctor walked in with the water.

After she drank, he helped her lie back against the pillows before he laid beside her with a hiss of pain. "The babe is sound."

The doctor nodded and packed up. "Keep his bandages clean. I'll be by twice a day with injections for the two of you."

Once the physician and sheriff left, she rolled toward him. "Is this going to harm the babe?"

He closed his eyes and set a hand on her belly. "Odds are he'll be fine. Not doing it is fatal to both of you. It doesn't matter if it does anything because we'll love the babe no matter what."

Tears blurred everything. "You'll love him?" He didn't respond, but she didn't expect him to. "It's my fault - we should've stayed in bed."

"It was an accident. We'll take care of the babe."

"Look at you too!"

"Just scratches."

She brushed away a tear. "Dr. Englewood said your muscles saved you from being gutted. You have more than fifty stitches."

"About time I look more manly," he replied dryly without opening his eyes.

"It isn't funny!" She sniffled.

"I'm alright, you're alright and the babe is alright," he grunted.

"And you're addicted to the medicine again, aren't you?" She burst into sobs of guilt.

His hand rested over hers. "Calm down, woman. Do I look high?"

She gasped. "He did surgery without drugs?!"

He snorted. "Chloroform."

She blinked. His speech did have an odd slur to it. "But you seem so coherent."

"Goddamn ass only gave enough for a ten-minute surgery. Now there's just the tingling to dull pain."

"Ohh, poor thing." She curled up to him. It took no more than a moment after he rested a hand on her belly that his soft snores filled the silence.

The next morning, Dr. Englewood left after giving the injections to go calm down Brigands, who had a fit that Mark had taken her out that late in the cold.

She pulled on her dress over her chemise. "Mark? Why do the neighbors think I'm your mistress?"

He choked on his drink of water. "Who does?"

"The mayor's wife."

The man's face reddened slightly with a fierce look by the end of the tale. "So they think I keep you prisoner here for sex."

"Isn't that our agreement?" She frowned in confusion.

His eyes practically popped out of his head. "No!"

"But, I'm to see to your needs and live here."

"Dammit, woman! That's _not_ how we discussed it, and it's _not_ what you will tell everyone! That's illegal to do that," he snapped.

"Oh. I don't understand the difference." She frowned and sat on the edge of the bed.

He dragged a hand over his face. "Sometimes I wonder how you made it to adulthood. You aren't a sex slave. We are wed and I've made it clear that you're free to leave. We also agreed to see to _each other's_ needs."

"I don't understand all of this sex stuff," she sighed.

In a temper, the man put on his spectacles and picked up a book off the nightstand to read.

"You'd think for having had sex, it would make more sense to me," she mumbled and stood to tidy the room. A very ungentlemanly curse left his lips with such vigor that she startled.

"A jackshit ass forcing you to be rutted does not qualify him as having had sex with you!" he shouted. His neck burned red and his eyes shot sparks over the rim of his reading glasses.

She blinked in surprise and confusion. "Alright..."

"God! Dammit!" he barked, breaking up the curse for emphasis and ripped off his spectacles only to wince from the sutures protesting.

Oh my goodness, he couldn't be... "Mark? Are you jealous?"

"No!" That came out with too much emotion, though.

She bit back a smile. "Oh. I thought maybe you didn't like it that a man tossed up my skirts and took my virginity while I was sobbing..." With a shrug, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she knelt to sort laundry.

The man looked every bit capable in that moment of murdering her attacker. How interesting that it seemed to bother him after all.

"People told me that sex is sex," she pressed and picked up a sock.

His teeth audibly ground together and he huffed like an angry bull.

"Sex does result in a babe and you had to repair the damage. I'm quite certain I have had sex."

He exploded. "He had no right to you! You're _my_ wife! Your first time is with _me_ , and that babe is _mine_!" His nostrils flared with rage as his chest heaved, his gaze livid.

Her heart quickened. He did care. So much joy flooded and she cracked a smile. "No, you're not jealous at all." Not giving him a chance to deny it, she sat on the edge of the bed with one of his dirty shirts in her lap. "Of course I'm yours, Mark."

"My property, I meant," he grumbled and opened his book, not doing so well looking nonchalant.

Liar. She smiled. "Of course, Mark."

"You could've had a hundred lovers before we wed for all I care," he grunted, his eyes on the page.

"A hundred. One shouldn't matter then." She pursed her lips, unable to resist goading him just a hint again.

That lethal look returned to his eyes as he glanced over the rim of his glasses.

She looked at him in all seriousness. Perhaps is wasn't because he cared. "Men don't want used women, do they?" Maybe he didn't want what had already been touched.

He snorted and resumed reading. "You make it sound like a horse." When she didn't move, he set down his book with a sigh. "There's a difference between assault and sex," he said gruffly.

"Is there?" It was more of a statement than a question.

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know." Because others said differently. She returned to the laundry on the floor.

"Who said that?" he demanded, as if somehow knowing.

"It doesn't matter." She set his dark business clothes in a separate pile.

"No, it doesn't because _I'm_ your husband," he snapped.

She bit her tongue so he would calm down. Only, he didn't.

"What dipshit told you otherwise?!"

"Mark - "

"Don't irritate me," he warned.

"Oh. I thought you already were." She cracked a smile and picked up a small load of laundry.

"Leave those for Becky," he ordered. "Who?"

Not able to turn around and face him, she stood there holding the clothes. "While he was having his way," she whispered.

"Tanya." His voice softened. "Put down the damn laundry and come here." When she settled on the edge of the bed at his hip, his forefinger lifted her chin. "First, what have I told you? You hold your head high and do not look down for anyone. Second, are you going to believe that filth or me?"

Her eyes met his. Put that way, it sounded like such a silly question.

"Third, you didn't give yourself to him, so I consider you a virgin. Fourth, I'm not a virgin - does that bother you?"

"Men aren't supposed to be, and you were married."

"I'm rumored to be a servant of the Devil and to enjoy pleasures of the flesh. How many women do you think I've had?" When her face burned at such a question, he said, "One."

Her mouth fell open. "Just Anna?"

He nodded. "Surprised, I see," he said dryly.

"So, you're not very good in bed then?"

"I..." He snorted and seemed at a loss for words. "Anna never complained!"

"But I bet she was a virgin."

"We grew up together - naturally she was," he retorted.

"So she wouldn't know if you were bad." She held back a smile.

"I never got one complaint!"

"Oh my, you're defensive." A soft giggle leaked out.

"We'll see what tune you're whistling in a few months," he grumbled.

"Yes, Mark," she purred.

"Get me some water," he growled.

"Tell me something first: do you regret marrying me?" The smile faded in all seriousness. She didn't seem to be anything like Anna. When he simply grunted, she stood and shoved down the heartache.

"Ask me a goddamn stupid question like that again, and you'll sleep in your own bed." He grabbed her wrist and swatted her bottom.

Even though the skirts absorbed the impact, she spun around with huge eyes that he'd raised a hand.

A slight twinkle danced in his eyes as he picked up the book and sat back against the pillows.

The man was being playful! She smiled. "I think I shall enjoy making love with you."

The man stared, completely speechless, as she left.

* * *

That afternoon, Dr. Englewood had to leave right after the injections for an emergency.

"Promise not to faint? I'm not catching you," he stated as she unwrapped his bicep.

"Ha ha. You could have warned me that you were going to drain fluid from your knee that day."

"There are sutures under the bandage."

"Oh, you're funny," she said dryly and took off the bandage. The blood drained to her feet the moment a red, swollen infection under strained sutures came into view. She sank onto the edge of the bed.

"Don't get your petticoats in a bunch," he grumbled and dug in his bag. "Have Brigands come up." He pulled out scissors.

"Why?"

"He's stitched before." He took the scissors to his arm.

"What are you doing?!" She yanked the scissors away.

"The sutures are trapping the infection." The man scowled.

"You'll cut off your arm from that angle."

"So get Brigands," he huffed.

"I can do it. I'm just not good with surprises." She eased the scissors under the first stitch and cut, picking up a bit more speed as his poor flesh split from the strain. Scrubbing out the infection didn't cause as much queasiness as expected. She glanced up. Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow even though he remained silent. "I'm sorry."

"Scrub it hard," he snapped. No further words came forth as she cleaned it out.

"Thank you for saving us. Again," she said quietly.

His eyes met hers. "I would've have kept my word if I'd let him maul you, now would I?"

"Why do you keep coming for us?"

"I just told you," he growled.

She studied his profile for a moment. It was somewhat hard from hardships he'd known but also strong and beautiful. Deep underneath, kindness hid there too. Once done with cleaning, she washed and left to find Brigands.

He stood in the kitchen making meals with a large man wearing an apron.

"Oh. Hello." She frowned in confusion.

"My lady, this is Tim, the new cook." Brigands wiped his hands on a towel. "The Marquess hired him to assist with meals so that I may leave early in the evenings to attend to my wife."

Her eyebrows rose for a moment. "He did?" Then she stepped forward and held out a hand to the rotund man. "Tim, a pleasure. I'm Tanya."

His chest puffed up, rising well to the occasion of shaking hands with a woman. He pumped it up and down in his beefy hand. "My lady. Mr. Brigands, a friend of my father, recommended me for the job. I'm sure you'll be pleased with the meals. As soon as you have a moment, I'll discuss the menu with you for the week."

"Oh." She smiled and folded her hands over her belly. "I'm afraid I've never prepared a menu. Brigands has done well. I'm sure he can guide you to what the Marquess likes. I like most anything." Then she looked at Brigands. "May I borrow you for a moment?"

"Of course, my lady." He followed her into the hall and walked up the stairs on her right.

"Brigands, I need your stitching abilities. Mark's arm is infected and I had to cut the sutures. I've never stitched anything alive."

He smiled. "It's simple. If you can darn a sock, you can stitch a man. I'll show you."

Brigands washed his hands after her and then surveyed everything she laid out that seemed necessary. He picked up the needle.

"Is there a reason for an audience?" Mark snapped.

"She would like to learn how to do this," he replied calmly and bent over Mark's arm.

"It's why I have you. Go do something, woman," he ordered.

"I am doing something." She sat on the edge of the bed to watch.

"Don't get smart with me," he barked.

"My, you are cranky."

Brigands jumped in before Mark could respond. "You just do a quick in and out, my lady."

Her skin went cold and clammy as the needle plunged through Mark's flesh again. "Wait, don't we give him brandy or something?"

Mark snorted. "It's a scratch and I'm not five."

The older man glanced at her. "It's not terribly painful, but it's best to be quick." His fingers deftly tied another knot. "About eleven, my lord?"

"Fine."

"Eleven what?" She looked from one man to the other.

"Sutures," Brigands answered.

"Eleven?! Without anything?!"

Mark sighed. "Are you going to sit here and yap? Brigands, stitch her mouth shut when you're done."

"My lord, I think she only worries about you."

"If I wanted a nanny, I would've hired one."

Brigands did another stitch and then turned to her. "Here."

"Me? No, I - "

"You only learn by doing," he coaxed.

"Right after she hits the floor," Mark grumbled. "Get on with it, woman, or do you like prolonging pain?" he barked.

She hesitantly took the needle and Brigand's place.

He leaned over her shoulder as she poised the needle. "Yes, right there. Quick in and out...oops, a bit too far out."

A curse slipped past her lips as he had her start over.

"Glad I'm not bleeding to death," Mark snorted.

"You know, you can stuff it. I've never done this before," she retorted.

"I can tell."

"The first time is hardest, my lady," Brigands said with such patience. "Try again...good! Now, tie a loose knot around, through...Good. No, no, just...once."

"Dammit, you just do it," she said in distress when he had to cut the suture out.

"Yes, please," Mark grumbled.

"You're doing fine. Slow down - he won't bleed out," Brigands urged.

"Could at this rate," Mark sighed.

"You're an awful teacher," she retorted under her breath and glared at Mark.

He glared right back.

Brigands smiled. "He was a professor - "

"Enough!" Mark barked.

The dear old man instantly silenced, and she glanced at Mark. "I pity your students." She spotted Brigands smother a laugh. Then she poised the needle again.

"There. Now slowly take it around, loop, pull gently...stop. Good!" He cut the thread. "Seven more."

"No, I'm done - "

"A lady needs to know how to stitch her husband and children. You're doing just fine." Brigands offered an encouraging smile.

"He's a doctor, and you can stitch him," she protested.

"Yes, please don't leave me in her hands," Mark begged.

Brigands met her eyes. "You have good stitches in the dress you wore when you arrived. You're a good seamstress. You can do this, my lady."

With reluctance, she turned back to Mark just to make Brigands happy. Bending over his bicep, she continued despite Mark's barbs. Biting her tongue from replies, she focused on the task at hand.

"Does it really need to be an all day event?" Mark snapped.

Tying off the fourth suture, she handed the needle to Brigands to finish.

"You're doing just fine," the man frowned. "Those are good stitches."

"Please finish," she said softly without meeting his eyes.

"But you're doing so well..."

"Please," she whispered in a beg as tears stung behind her eyes.

When he reluctantly took the needle, she hurried out - bloodied hands and all. For the first time, she couldn't hold up to Marquess Debonairo's temper. She cried.

A knock came on the bedroom door minutes later. She brushed at the tears that refused to stop. "I'll be out in a few minutes!"

"My lady, may I come in?"

Hestitating for a moment, she walked over to the door and unlocked it.

Brigands stepped in. "He's a bitter man. You did just fine," he said gently and led her to sit in a chair. "Don't let him shake your confidence. It was your first time, and after the first couple stitches, they looked as good as any surgeon's."

She sniffled in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I've been told my whole life everything I'm not good at. I just wanted to help, and I thought I could do it for him..." The tears welled again.

He handed over his handkerchief. "My lady, I'm not...well, I'm not sure why it's so important to you to please him, but it won't happen. Since the late Marchoness passed, he hates everyone. I gave up long ago trying to get his approval. I do my job and _I_ know I'm doing it right, so that's what counts. Do your best, my lady. He'll point out any errors, believe you me. Grumblings like he was doing are not criticisms from him."

"I think you do a wonderful job. I don't know why you've stayed."

He smiled. "Because of you, my lady. I was giving up on him, but then you came. It is a pleasure to serve you, my lady."

She got up and flung her arms around the man. "You're the first friend I've ever had," she wept.

He patted her back, a slight catch coming out in his voice. "Let me tell you one thing my father told me: a man's worth isn't measured by what people say about him but what his friends say about him. And may I say that you are the finest lady I've ever had the privilege to meet."

Pulling back, she looked at him with a smile and sniffled. "Really?"

"Yes, but don't tell my wife," he winked.

She gave a watery laugh. "Brigands, I wish you had been my father."

He sobered and took the handkerchief to dry her eyes himself. "I feel sorry for your father - he didn't know how blessed he was," he said in a thick voice.

That really did make her cry.


	12. Chapter 12

Brigands took Mark meals and saw to him the next couple days. No demand came from the Marquess for her to sleep in his room. So, she passed the days spending time with Brigands and even coaxed Tim into playing cards in the kitchen. He turned out to be quite the card player and entertained with stories of his world travels from his younger days. Becky always found an excuse to leave.

"I say she should be fired," Tim said in offense one evening when Becky left them alone playing cards, passing the final fifteen minutes of Brigands' shift.

"She does her work," she shrugged.

Brigands scowled at the door Becky had just exited. "And contributes to the gossip."

"I'm used to gossip, as is the Marquess. PEople choose to believe what they will." She laid down a card.

"I don't like it," Brigands grumbled and settled deeper into his chair.

"Makes my bowels crunch up," Tim muttered.

She laughed in shock.

"Manners, man," Brigands scolded.

"Sorry."

She looked at the older man. "Brigands, what is wrong with your wife?"

The man grew quiet and kept his eyes on his cards. "The doctor thinks it's cancer in her belly. He said not long now."

"Has the Marquess seen her?"

"No." He frowned in confusion.

"Have you had a second opinion?"

He shook his head. "The surgeon said it's obvious. Her belly is swollen with it."

"Didn't you say her sister has been here for a few weeks and is going home soon?"

He nodded. "She leaves tomorrow."

"Bring her here. There are plenty of rooms upstairs. Then you won't have to travel, and you can check on her during the days."

"No, thank you, my lady. The Marquess wouldn't agree."

She frowned. "It's my house too. Come, isn't it a brilliant idea?"

Both men looked at her like she had two heads.

"He said it was my bedchamber to do with as I wish, yes?"

"Yes..." He eyed her suspiciously.

"What do I need with the connecting sitting room?" She smiled. "The three of us can drag a bed in there."

"She seems so happy to have you around." She smiled as she left the woman to nap upstairs a couple days later.

Brigands turned to her with tears in his eyes. "Thank you for letting me bring her here. It means more time...five minutes here and there are worth a lifetime now."

Blinking back tears, she set a hand on his arm. "The Marquess is still in bed with his knee. Stay with her as much as you can."

"The doctor said she may not last until Christmas." A tear crept down the wrinkled lines in his cheek.

Swallowing hard, she envied him the closeness he had with his spouse. But it also brought him great pain at this stage in life. Pain that was apparent he would go through all over again rather than never have had his wife in his life. "All the more reason why I shall see to the Marquess."

Brigands took both of her hands and pressed a kiss to them, with tears dampening his cheeks. "Bless you," he whispered and then disappeared back inside the bedchamber.

She took Mark a breakfast tray.

"What is this I hear from Becky about Brigands and his wife living in your sitting room?" he demanded.

"Good morning to you too, and the babe and I are doing well, thank you," she retorted dryly.

"I'm completely aware you're doing fine without me," he snapped.

She set the tray in his lap and stared at him in surprise. He sounded...hurt. "You made it clear that you didn't want me around, so I've been keeping myself occupied."

"Good," he growled. He still wouldn't look up.

He was so heartless after how gentle he'd been the night the coyote attacked. "Next time, I'm not staying until you make me cry." He deserved to have to answer for how he treated people. When the man didn't move but continued to stare at the tray in his lap, she turned to go.

"I came to your door to apologize," he replied, his voice soft and sad. "As soon as I'm able to travel, I'll go to the country estate."

She spun around, anger rushing that now he chose to walk out. "I don't understand what I didn't that made you hate me all of the sudden!" When he finally looked up, her breath caught at the dark blue shadows under his eyes and grayness of his complexion. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw, as if he hadn't shaved in a couple days.

"I don't hate you." He looked away, his shoulders even slumped. "It's better for you if I go."

Oh no. He'd come after her and must've heard the conversation with Brigands. "Mark, have you been ill?" She walked closer and sank onto the edge of the bed. Brigands hadn't said a peep about him being ill.

The man shook his head. He'd never been this quiet and subdued.

""You look unwell." She set a hand to his brow and then his cheek, not minding the slight prickliness. He didn't feel hot.

He hand cupped over hers on his cheek, and he met her gaze. His eyes had a slight redness like he might weep. "You deserve someone who won't make you cry. Who will see your sunny smiles and want you around even when you're driving him insane. Who can't sleep without you and would do anything to protect you."

Her heart melted. He didn't seem to see that he described himself.

"Who knows how to be kind to the most wonderful thing that has happened to him in a long time." Tears shimmered in his eye. He pulled her hand away and looked down at his lap. "I'll send for divorce papers today. You can have the house and keep what staff you want." His voice cracked for a moment. "I'll send money for you and the babe every month."

She set her hand on his leg through the sheets with a soft smile. "Or maybe just an 'I'm sorry' and promise to work on your temper."

Wide eyes flew to her.

"I do not mind your temper. It's when you're mean that it hurts." She shrugged. "I sort of like it when you growl because it often means you're smothering sentiment."

He scowled.

She laughed, her heart feeling much lighter after days. "Like that. I know that is a 'yes.' Your voice doesn't have an edge to it when you're putting on a front."

His brow furrowed, the sadness fleeing his eyes. "I see being a Marchioness has gone to your head," he grumbled.

A smile bloomed. "Like that." Scooting her bulk closer, she slipped into his lap and wrapped her arms around in a hug, mindful of his sutures.

He held tight like he hadn't thought this would happen again. His hand cupped the back of her head and his voice fell to a deep baritone of solemnity. "I'm sorry."

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she sighed in contentment. "If I say you're being mean, you have to stop right there. I promise that over time if it keeps happening, we won't be able to make the wound heal."

"I know," he whispered and stroked his fingers up and down her back.

"I think we should take a nap being you can't sleep without me." She smiled and sat back. "Or maybe it's your guilty conscience over making me cry. Or maybe both." She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Youd like that, wouldn't you?" he growled.

"Yes, dear, I think I would." Her smile grew.

"No climbing on me like a child, if I must put up with you in my bed again," he ordered.

"No, Mark."

He pulled down the sheets for her. "And no doing that soft little hum in your sleep," he barked.

"Yes, Mark." She giggled and presented her back to him to let her out of the dress. "Although I don't know how I'll make myself stop when I'm sleeping."

His unbuttoned the dress, grunting in response. Then he took the liberty of removing the pins from her hair so it cascaded down. "And you'll not wear your hair in a braid but loose to bed," he ordered.

"But it'll get tangled."

"Then I'll have to brush it in the mornings," he snapped.

She stood and pulled off the dress, leaving only her chemise on. "Should I sleep naked for you too?" She smiled and looked over her shoulder.

He stared, speechless. A second later, he sputtered. "No! Get in the damn bed!"

How she loved to make him speechless. She climbed in and scooted back against him, pleased that something poked her bottom as his arm slipped around and he spooned. "I like it when you want me." Her fingers laced with his over the babe.

"It's simply a reaction to a woman being in the bed! Go to sleep, dammit." But his need grew.

"If you need to make love, you can teach me. I think I might need to be scandalous and be on top because of my belly, though - "

A strangled groan and he jerked her shoulder to roll her onto her back. His mouth crushed down and his tongue dipped inside as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb doing something wonderful to the tip of her breast.

When he rolled her away and spooned her again, she panted as hard as him. "Quiet," he ordered.

Her fingers pressed to her swollen lips. He'd never kissed like that before. Heat flooded between her legs and he left the most exquisite tingling in her breast. Oh my. If this was any sign of how he'd be as a lover...he promised to send her up in smoke with the passion he could ignite.

* * *

"What is this Becky says about Brigand's wife living here?"

She stood before the mirror putting up her hair after the nap. "My, Becky is a gossip. I have no use for two rooms, and his wife is on her deathbed. Since you won't pay him to be home with her, I brought her to him." She patted a stray lock in place and glanced at him still in bed with his poor knee that had apparently become infected but was now beginning or heal.

"This is my house - "

"And you gave me two rooms to do with as I wish." She turned to face him and folded her hands over her belly.

"Not to store people!"

"And you will examine his wife."

"What?!"

"Give a second opinion. I looked in your books, and her cancer could be a female problem. You were one of the best female doctors, so you will check her."

"No. Englewood already diagnosed her," he growled.

"And you will verify it."

"No!"

She held his eyes. "You couldn't do anything to save Anna, but what if you can save this woman? Save Brigands from the same pain you went through?"

He didn't have an answer for that.

* * *

Brigands came in to the library the next afternoon where she read another one of Mark's university books. She looked up and her smiled died upon seeing the tears on his face. "Oh god, is she...?"

He dropped into a chair and sobbed. "The Marquess...h, he thinks...he can cure her."

"What?"

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You did this."

"What do you mean he can cure her? I thought - "

"He examined her and said it's tumors in her womb, not cancer. Surgery to remove her womb will save her."

She hunted Mark down in his chambers digging through his medical bag a bit later, sobs of relief coming from her chambers. "You can save her?"

The man didn't turn. "She has fibroids in her uterus that are taking up a great deal of her blood supply and causing the symptoms. If not removed, they will kill her. A hysterectomy - removing her uterus - will cure her."

"So you're operating?" This was too good to be true. It was like an early Christmas miracle.

"No."

She blinked. "What?"

He set his bag aside and looked at her. "I have no license and Englewood disagrees with my diagnosis and won't operate."

"You're just leaving her?!"

"My hands are tied." He shook his head from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

Her jaw dropped. "Mark, you can't let her die!"

"They just need to find another surgeon who will do the surgery."

"Who?"

He looked away. "The disease is rare, likely often misdiagnosed as cancer, and few believe that it's a true condition. The closest surgeon I know of who would operate is in France."

"France? It'll take weeks for him to get here!"

"He can't come anyways."

She sank onto the bed beside him. "Have you told them?"

"I just did," he said softly.

It hadn't been sobs of relief heard a minute ago but grief. She swallowed hard. "Mark, just do the surgery. Even if something happens to her, I don't think Brigands would report you to authorities. At least give her a chance."

He shook his head. "Tanya, I need tools that only a hospital has. I'm banned from hospitals. If I go, I'll be arrested because they'll know I'm practicing without a license."

"Send someone for you."

"They know everyone here, and Englewood can't get tools for me without losing his license and head too."

She pursed her lips in thought. "But they don't know me."

"I can't believe you talked me into this damn hairbrained idea," he griped and tied dresses around her to hide her belly.

"No one will notice. I'll pretend to be an overweight nurse. I'll get in and out."

"This is theft." Tension creased the corners of his eyes.

"Not when you leave money behind."

He stopped and looked at her. "You've done thieving?"

"I plead not guilty."

He sighed and shook his head. "I don't even want to know." Then he continued the disguise.

"When your father squanders food money, you learn how to feed yourself as a child."

"Goddamn bastard," he mumbled under his breath. "If you get caught, tell them I said I'd kill you if you wouldn't do it."

"What?" She laughed.

But he looked at her from beneath his brow in all seriousness. "Do it. You and the babe would die in prison, if you even made it long enough to give birth."

"No one is going to catch me, Mark." She kissed his cheek, her heart twisting that he'd take the fall for her idea going wrong. She pulled on a sheet made into a decent rendition of a nurse's uniform. "How do I look?"

"Like a fat, foreign, completely obvious thief."

"So, do something!"

He studied her face and dipped his finger in the fireplace soot. "Hold still." He dabbed at her eyes and cheeks and pinned up her hair in a tight bun. Then he turned her to face the mirror.

She stared at the the stranger. He'd disguised the shape of her eyes and redrawn the shape of her eyebrows. He'd even done something to her cheeks to hide the high cheekbones and created an illusion of her olive skin being a sickly gray. She frowned. "I look like an ugly English woman."

"You look more common. And ugly will prevent attention being drawn to you," he mumbled.

Her eyes landed on him in the mirror in question. "Why, Mark, are you saying you had to make me ugly because I'm pretty?" She smiled.

He just grunted.

"How did you know how to do this?" She turned her head this way and that. No one would recognize her.

"Anna was too weak to paint her face but insisted she looked too ill without it, so I learned how to do it," he replied quietly.

* * *

He rode with her to the edge of the forest just outside of town, the hospital in view just a couple blocks away. The damn chit didn't seem the least bit worried about getting caught. His stomach clenched. If she got caught thieving, she'd be thrown in some filthy prison where she'd catch disease and starve and probably be beaten and assaulted by the guards... He slammed the door on those horrid thoughts. "Tanya, we're not doing this." Reaching over, he grabbed the reigns of her horse.

She frowned. "We're not going back now. I go in the back door, down the hall and to the supply room on the right, fifth door, right?"

Jesus, he was going to throw up. "That was six years ago! They could've changed the layout of the hospital! Fuck no, I'm not sending you in there! This is goddamn insane! We're going home."

The chit jerked the reigns from his hand. "Stop cursing. I'll be fine. I know how to blend into the background." Then she nudged the horse forward.

Pure panic seized every muscle - just long enough for her to disappear into the city crowds. Kicking his horse forward, he pulled down his top hat and tugged up his cape collar to mask his face, his eyes scanning for a patch of white moving through the crowds. His heart beat faster with every step that she remained gone. He kicked the horse into a trot, the animal snorting and prancing in distress because the thick swarm of people prevented faster movement. Then his heart stopped.

A block ahead, a lone figure in white slipped up the back steps of the hospital and disappeared inside so fast that if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought it his imagination. Oh shit. The more he kicked the horse to move faster, the more the animal pranced and turned in circles in distress. For the first time in six years, he prayed.

* * *

She returned to their spot in the woods less ten minutes later. But he wasn't there. With a frown, she looked around. He came trotting from the direction of town, his face ashen. She grinned. "Got them."

He didn't say anything but looked around and then grabbed her reigns, urging her horse forward at a quick walk but not quick enough to jostle the baby.

Her smile faded when she looked down at his hand. It shook. "Are you alright?" But the man didn't respond. It was almost as if he'd been terrified she'd be caught. She set a hand on his arm in reassurance. It took a long time before he stopped shaking.

* * *

As soon as Cook and Becky left the house for the night, Mark set everything up in the bedchamber for surgery. Brigands lit every lantern he could find to brighten the room and draped sheets over the curtains to help dim the light from looking suspicious outside.

Then Mark turned to her and spoke quietly. "I need you to hand me tools."

"Wouldn't Brigands be better?"

"And have him fall apart if she goes downhill? No. I need someone who can keep their head in an emergency."

She scrubbed with him in the kitchen using steaming hot water. "My skin is starting to hurt from scrubbing."

He scrubbed up to his elbows beside her with an apron around his waist. "Good. One more minute."

"Mark, this is more scrubbing than any doctor - "

"And that's why so many patients get infections," he growled.

So she continued and followed him upstairs, holding her hands up to keep from touching anything, like he said. He had Brigands give his wife the chloroform and then he booted the man into the hall.

Her knees grew weak the moment he cut the woman open low on her distended belly.

"Sit," he ordered.

So she plopped in a chair next to the bed. "Is that how you have to cut the baby out if I can't birth him?"

"No." He said it a little too quick. "Suck it up, Tanya, because I need you to take the organ in a moment."

His brisk demeanor made it easier to focus on the task at hand. She handed him tools and then grabbed the towel for him to set the organ on.

He lifted out a pinkish-red, slimy circular thing about the size of a ball. "Ready? It's heavy."

She swallowed back the bile. "What is that?"

"Her womb."

Her eyes flew to him in shock.

He cracked a smile. "Yours is about that size right now with the babe." He turned back to the woman.

Oh dear heaven, she was going to throw up. "Now what?" she squeaked out the words, still holding the thing with the towel.

"Eat it."

"What?!"

"Put it in the trash over there. Lord, woman." But the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

"If I vomit, I'll be sure it's on you." She carried the thing over to the trash and returned to him.

"If you do, you won't do it anywhere near her so she doesn't get infected," he ordered.

It was disgusting and horrifying and yet fascinating. She peeked over his shoulder as he stitched something inside. "How can you even look at women? This is gross."

He chuckled. "So don't look."

"What are you stitching?"

"Her birth canal where we cut her womb off." He seemed so patient and calm during surgery.

She frowned and watched what he did.

"Ask."

"Hm?" She looked at his profile.

"You have a question."

Her cheeks burned. "I think you lied that you wouldn't have to cut me like this if the babe gets stuck. I've heard rumors that the womb is cut out if bleeding won't stop. If you have to do this to me, does it mean you need to...satisfy your needs elsewhere?"

His eyes met her for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I don't follow."

"Does this mean that we couldn't have sex because you wouldn't...fit anymore?"

He frowned. "We would still fit."

"I mean, my womb wouldn't be there anymore for you to go in."

His head turned to her and his eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "A man doesn't go into the womb. That would be as damn painful for you as giving birth."

"Oh."

He dropped his chin to his chest. "Tell me that someone taught you about sex."

She scowled. "I know what goes where, obviously." She touched her belly.

That blue eye glanced from the corner at her belly. "You have no idea what's going on in there either, do you? And don't touch tools anymore - you contaminated your hand."

"I'm not stupid. I know there's a babe," she huffed.

The man heaved a sigh. "After this, we're getting out one of my books. What time is it?"

It might be fun to read a book together before bed. "Eight." She looked over his shoulder again. "What are you stitching now?"

"The abdominal muscles." The man proved to be an excellent teacher, full of knowledge and superb skill. Minutes later, he said, "Go to the washroom to clean up."

She glanced down at a spot of blood on his upper arm that peeked out under his sleeve. A stitch had torn, the site red where the skin had been ripped through by the stitch. "Mark," she said weakly. The room spun.

"Go. I can't catch you when I'm full of blood."

The urgency in his voice made her drag her feet to the washroom, with him hot on her heels. He scrubbed fast and then grabbed her hands and scrubbed even though there wasn't a spot of blood on her.

The torn flesh on his arm glistened from the tear as a bead of blood formed. Her vision grew patchy as he yanked off his apron and bloodied shirt. His voice came through as a distant, tinny ring. Then she blinked, her vision returning.

"Tanya? Tanya, answer me."

She looked up at him as he laid her on the floor and pressed a hand to the pulse at her neck.

"Well, you held up far better than I expected."

"I think your arm did me in."

"My arm?" His head followed her gaze to the torn stitch. "You've got to be kidding. You made it through major surgery but a torn stitch makes you faint?" His eyes rolled and he helped her sit up.

"Is she going to be alright?"

"She should start improving now not having something sucking up all her blood flow. If she can make it through the next few days without infection, she'll be fine."

"You're a good surgeon." She smiled and let him check her pulse again.

"One surgery doesn't make a good surgeon," he grunted.

"If they let you get your license back, would you practice?"

He helped her stand. "Go tell him the news."

"Mark?" She frowned.

"Go."

So she went into the hall where Brigands paced. "It's done. Mark says if we can keep infection away, she'll be fine."

He crushed her in a hug and wept tears of joy as he raced into the room and took his sleeping wife's hand.

She followed and looked across the bed through the crack in the washroom door. Mark leaned his hands on the counter and stared hard at his reflection as if deep in thought. Somehow it seemed like he despised what he saw. Then his eyes flicked to her in the mirror. He turned away, his reflection disappearing.

Mark exited a moment later. "She'll be weak for a couple weeks. Give her laudanum when she wakes up." He headed for the door, limping heavily on his cane.

"Thank you, my lord - "

"Stay here tomorrow and care for her," he snapped over his bare shoulder.

She hurried down the hall after him. "Wait, Mark!" But he didn't stop. She caught up to him. "Thank you. You saved her life - "

"I did what you wanted. Not another word about it," he snapped, his eyes piercing.

Stopping in her tracks, she stared at his retreating back in confusion. Giving him a few minutes to cool down, she entered the bedroom. He stood in the washroom trying to bandage his bleeding arm. "I can do that."

But his look stopped her. So she got ready for bed and curled up to him when he got in. The man said not a word but held her hand tight. "Mark, are you angry with me? Even if she does get infection and die, you gave her a chance, which was more than Dr. Englewood gave. Brigands won't fault you for trying."

"When a woman is aroused, sex shouldn't hurt. The man..." He continued explaining things like she hadn't spoken. And he explained childbirth and what to do if certain things went wrong almost as if he didn't expect to be there.

As she laid on her side with him curled up with his arm around her, she laced her fingers with his that stroked the babe. "I'm scared of giving birth. I'm glad you'll be there, Mark. You make everything feel safe." She turned over to face him, the moonlight casting a very faint glow.

"Sleep naked with me," he whispered, the words somehow so mournful.

"What's wrong?" But without hesitation, she sat up and shed her clothes.

The man didn't answer but slid off his pants under the covers. He turned onto his back so her belly could rest over his side, and he slid an arm under her to rest her head on his shoulder. His hand stroked her bare belly, and he didn't flinch when her scarred breasts pressed against his chest.

It was so beautiful and peaceful and intimate, just being held and accepted for who she was and not being worried about scars. This is what it meant to be intimate with a man, what it meant to be married to a good man. Closing her eyes, she basked in his warmth and protection. "I love you," she whispered.

His hand stilled for a split instant and then resumed the soft caress.

Even though he would never reciprocate the words because he loved Anna, it felt so wonderful to say them to him. The fact that he didn't get angry because of them was his gift in itself - an acceptance of her affection and a promise to not leave her side until his dying day.

* * *

He was already gone the next morning when she woke up, so she went into the sitting room to figure out how to knit some baby clothes.

"You did a damn operation?!" The surgeon's voice boomed through the house. She got up to go see what on earth was wrong.

Dr. Englewood stood at Mark's desk and Mark sat back lazily in his chair behind the desk. "The woman had fatal fibroids and you weren't going to lift a damn finger." He shrugged.

"Who helped you?" The doctor snapped in a temper beyond anything she'd imagined for him.

"No one." Mark held his gaze.

"Who?! You know damn well it was illegal and you couldn't have done it alone!" The doctor slammed a fist down on the desk.

"No one," he growled.

She marched in. "I did. He did perfectly fine - "

Mark shot to his feet, his face suddenly pale.

"You?!" The doctor whirled around and then glared at Mark. "You dragged her into this?! You know I have to report this! Goddamn idiot!" he roared at Mark.

She blinked. "Report what?"

Mark leaned across the desk, his eyes dangerous as he growled, "She did not lay a finger on her. I did the surgery."

"What's going on?" she demanded. A terrible feeling sank in.

The surgeon looked at her. "If he violated the agreement with the Court to not practice, he goes back for trial."

"You can show them you're competent." She smiled. "You can - "

"To be hanged," the doctor explained.

She stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes flew to Mark.

"Get out," he snarled at her. "This conversation doesn't involve you."

"But, he saved her! She's already looking better!" The shock trapped the tears in her throat. God, this couldn't be happening.

"Doesn't matter. My hands are tied." Dr. Englewood shook his head, looking sad himself.

Her stomach dropped to her feet and her gaze shot to Mark. "You knew when you did the surgery. That's what last night was about too." Tears welled and she cupped a hand over her mouth to hold back the tears. He'd been explaining childbirth to keep her safe because he knew he'd be dead before the babe came.

"Tanya, get out." Mark's gaze didn't waiver.

She shook her head, the motion jerky as she choked on sobs. "You can't report him. She's fine - "

"Tanya," Mark said quietly.

"Please." She grabbed Dr. Englewood's lapels. "As long as she recovers - "

"Tanya," Mark said again.

She turned to face him.

"He's a surgeon for the King's Military - he was assigned to watch me in exchange for me getting out of the asylum," he said with a heavy heart. "If he doesn't report me and someone finds out, he and everyone in this house could lose their heads."

"Why did you do it?"

The doctor turned to him. "Yes, after six years, what compelled you to break the rules?" He frowned.

Mark sank into the chair in defeat. "What have I done with my life the last six years? Someone pointed out that I could save a life. Why not do something for someone who has been like a father to me?" His eyes met the surgeon's. "Why not do something to make one or two people proud of me before I go?"

"No one wanted you to trade your life for hers," she sobbed.

Those deep blue eyes met hers and seemed so human and vulnerable instead of hard and cold. "She is more deserving of life than I am," he said softly.

She ran and flung herself into his arms. "We'll escape to America. I'll go with you."

"You're too heavy with child, and you don't deserve a life on the run." He eased her arms off. "Enough," he said softly. "I left papers and directions for accessing accounts in the ledgers. There's enough money to provide for you and the babe for the next ten years. Go to Spain where you'll blend in better and start over. You'll be accepted as a widow and can find a suitable husband - "

Shaking her head, she clung to his hands.

"Let's go," the doctor said sadly.

He pulled his hands free and started to follow the doctor.

"Mark?" Oh god, he couldn't go. This had to be a nightmare.

He turned, his heart heavy and eyes filled with a lifetime of regrets.

She ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. "I love you. Please, I'll runaway with you."

Drawing a shaky breath, his finger hooked under her chin to turn her tearstained face up to his sad eyes. "I wish for you to remember me in moments like this - when I wasn't a burden to be married to or a beast who made you cry," he said in a thick voice.

Tears streamed down. "I won't let you go."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Take care of that babe and yourself." Then he stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes. Slowly leaning down, he held her tight and whispered in her ear, "I asked for a change to our marital agreement ecause I was falling in love with you."

A choked sob escaped and gut-wrenching sobs took over.

He brushed a kiss over her lips and then pulled out of her arms.

She dashed away the tears to see and raced to the front door. Yanking it open, her heart thundered in a panic to see him and Dr. Englewood riding horses down the drive. "Mark!" He didn't stop. The scream of pure terror ripped out of her throat, "Mark!" Holding her belly, she ran but the babe weighed down too much. "Mark!"

He looked over his shoulder, the sunlight catching the tear on his cheek. Then he turned away, his head bowed.

"Mark! No! Mark!" She pushed through the pain in her belly. Just a few minutes. Just one more minute to convince him to run away together, that he didn't need to die to protect everyone. "Mark!" She screamed it from the very core of her being, fear and darkness creeping in.

An arm wrapped around and stopped her. "My lady, stop. The babe." Brigands locked his arms around her.

"No! They'll hang him!" She twisted and fought to break free, the sobs making speech impossible. It must've been sheer madness from grief that made her fists pound his chest.

A larger body took hold, catching her wrists and forcing her to stop. "He said to keep you from going after him so you'll be safe," Tim said. He hugged her tight to still the flailing.

Flinging her head to get the wild stands of hair from her eyes, she looked down the road. They were gone. "Maaaaark!" She screamed with every fiber of her being, the cry ringing over the hills. Her voice gave out. She sank to the ground, letting the pebbles bite into her hands as she sobbed grief so deep that no sound came.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Glad everyone likes it. This chapter is short - sometimes shorter is more powerful.**

* * *

The news splashed all over the papers in the gossip column.

 _Former doctor arrested for attempted murder again!_

 _The long-dead Marchioness will have justice!_

 _Ex-physician on trial for illegal surgery!_

She threw down the paper and blew her nose into the handkerchief. "Brigands, I can't stand it. They don't know him and treat him like a monster. He left two days ago, and they celebrate in town like he was some oppressive ruler."

"They do not understand. Eat your breakfast, my lady. The babe needs food." He patted her back.

"Dear, can't you take her to find lawyers who will defend him?" his wife asked from bed. Her color improved more each day.

"He has the only lawyer I could find to take the case," he sighed.

"Perhaps they'll let me testify. I can tell them that he -" she sniffled.

Brigands shook his head. "My lady, you've only know him for a couple months. Gossip says he saved you from starvation by making you his mistress under the guise of a wife title. You'd have no credibility. The jury is already out for blood." He dropped his head into his hands from his seat on the edge of the bed. "I don't think there's anything we can do."

"Take me to him. There has to be a way. Maybe he knows of something from the trial last time. Maybe a lawyer from that case would defend him."

He stared at her. "Take you to a prison? He'd have my head, assuming we didn't die from picking up a plague or something there. No."

"Please." She turned to his wife. "If it was Brigands, wouldn't you need to see him? To see that they aren't harming him? That he isn't starving or ill? He has another week until the trial, and his injuries haven't healed yet."

His wife gave him a firm look. "Take her."

"I'll take her."

She turned. Dr. Englewood stood in the doorway, right on schedule for the rabies injection. Her heart dropped. Mark wasn't even getting the rabies treatment. She turned away from him.

"My lady, I know you are angry with me. What choice did I have?"

Whirling in the chair, she hissed, "You could've listened to his diagnosis!"

"He was not technically a physician," he countered gently.

Her voice rose to a shout. "He was one of the best goddamn physicians in his field! He has experience you do not possess! You both took oaths to save lives and put patients first! You put your pride first!" She thrust a finger at the ground. "He kept his vows even though it cost him his life! And you sent him to the gallows for doing what you should've done!" She shot to her feet, blood hot with rage. "It's all because an unlicensed doctor told you that you were wrong! Get out!"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should've listened." He met her cold eyes. "You're right - I blew him off because he's not a doctor anymore. You don't know how it's eating at me - "

"And you don't know how it's killing me to watch my husband go to the gallows because he did the honorable thing! Get out of this house!"

"You need the injection - "

Storming over to him, she glared. "Leave it. Then get out and don't come back." She swept past.

Brigands entered a few minutes later with the injection. "My lady, you and the babe need this. Who is to give it to you?" He fretted.

She stared out the window over the gentle snowfall blanketing the world in white. "The physician from the next town is coming - Tim sent word last night. I will take that one to Mark and pray he's had enough treatments because one way or another, he's getting out." Her voice held a steel undertone never heard before. There was no longer a place for a meek, rejected outcast. She was a marchioness whose husband needed her to throw around her power and make everyone else think she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You need to be ready for the worst..."

"I thought this Christmas couldn't get any worse - losing Papa, having no food or home, a babe coming, no wedding ring..." She looked down at the gold band on her finger. "I have everything without the fear of a man running my life, like I wanted two months ago. And yet I would give anything to have the Devil Debonario back home. I didn't know it was possible to still breathe with pain like this."

Footsteps crossed the room and an arm wrapped around her shoulders. "We will go to him tomorrow. We will find a way out, my lady."

"And the sheriff will come too," she said.

* * *

She held her belly and swallowed down her stomach as the carriage bounced on the two-hour ride to the London prison. Brigands tried to insist on stops to rest, but thoughts of Mark thrown in filth and left to rot pushed her on. Perhaps the babe knew something was wrong or God took mercy, but the babe kept quiet.

The carriage pulled up to a dirty, crumbling building that smelled of filth even from the outside. Fierce armed guards stationed around made her heart beat faster, but it was the screams from within that terrified. There were so many screams of pain that it was impossible to make out any of them as Mark. She clung to Brigand's arm, thankful that he wasn't a frail man as her only ally in this frightening place.

He led her through a front door and to a desk where a severe-looking man sat. "We're here to see Marcus Debonairo," he announced like a king not to be disobeyed.

The man smirked. "William, take them to the gallows wing." Then he eyed her. "Tis not a place for a woman."

She held his eye, Mark's words echoing in her head. _Hold your head high, Tanya._

A huge man with pistols and a baton on his belt rose and opened a heavy wood door.

The walk took forever, seeming to go through half the prison. Brigands kept a tight hold on her arm as men in cells gawked and made remarks that burned her ears. "Don't make eye contact," Brigands whispered and pulled up her hood, concealing her face.

The stench of waste and unwashed men threatened to bring up the little food she had eaten for breakfast. Brigands walked her around yellow puddles in the hall. When she was nearly ready to scream from frayed nerves, the man turned down a hall without cells. She sighed in relief - until she glanced out a tiny window on the left. It overlooked the gallows in the center of the courtyard, as if laughing at the men within the walls.

Another door. The men in this hall didn't have filthy cots but straw as beds and windows. Windows that overlooked the gallows. This must be the hall where Mark was. These men looked dangerous. These men didn't make crude comments but tried to grab at her skirts. One man caught it.

The guard whirled and slammed the baton against the man's arm, a horrid crunch and scream of pain echoed. She startled hard at the violence and stared in horror as the guard walked away from the man whose arm he'd just broken. Brigands wrapped his arm around and pulled her closer. One cell at the end was quiet as they approached.

A man leaned against the back wall of the cell with his legs stretched out and head bowed in despair. His clothes had so much filth that he looked like a pauper. His unshaven face and disheveled hair didn't hide the flush of fever in his face. His hands rested in his lap in shackles. If not for his swollen knee, he may've been unrecognizable at a glance.

"Mark." Letting go of Brigands, she rushed to the cell.

His head shot up with wide eyes. He pulled himself to his feet as fast as he could and limped heavily to the bars. "Tanya, what are you doing here? It's not safe," he rasped, his voice terribly hoarse.

She touched his hands that wrapped around the bars. "You're burning up." Reaching through the bars, she touched his damp brow before he pulled back. "Brigands, his bag."

"You shouldn't be here," Mark protested.

Brigands handed her the bag, and she turned to the guard. "Open the door, please."

"No one goes in," he snorted and folded his arms over his chest.

"He's ill!"

The man didn't budge.

"You have no right to deny him medical care." Pulling herself up to her full height, she glared at the guard.

The moment she rattled off the statute number for it, he snapped, "Shut up!" Then he opened the door.

She stepped in.

"No!" Mark held up a hand and limped toward her. "Don't touch the straw - there's lice. Don't touch anything. Disease is everywhere in here."

The guard slammed the door, nudging her a little closer into the cell.

She reached to hug him as he stopped before her, tears springing to her eyes. "Mark."

He stepped back. "No, I'm infected. Don't touch - I'm not sure what I have."

So she dropped her arms and let the tears fall.

"Don't cry. It'll be alright." It looked like it ripped his heart out to be so close yet so far apart.

"No, it won't. The papers are turning you into a monster." She wept and pulled down the hood.

"Tanya," he said, his voice hoarse but gentle, "You need to focus on taking care of the babe. Everything will work out how it's meant to."

He looked so terribly ill. Stepping forward, she unbuttoned his shirt to check the sutures. Perhaps they were infected and causing the fever.

Someone whistled. "Pass her over when you finish with her!"

Mark didn't pay attention but tried to jerk the material from her hands. But it wasn't before revealing black, long bruises on his chest.

Stepping around, she yanked up the back to see worse bruising. "Why did they beat you?!"

"Tanya, you need to go."

"That's not all they did," someone laughed from a nearby cell.

"What?" Oh god, what had they done to him? The hoarseness...maybe it wasn't from illness but from screaming.

He looked at Brigands. "Take her home."

"No! I'm not leaving you like this!" She dug in his bag, and he quietly let her tend to the sutures as best as the filthy conditions allowed.

When she couldn't stall any longer, he caught her eye. "You need to go now."

"I need the names of lawyers. Any lawyers. I'll go see them - "

"Tanya, you need to rest. I have a lawyer - "

"No. Good ones - big name ones. Ones who have the power to sway the public eye."

"I don't know any. It will be fine. Please go before you get sick."

"I'll find someone. I'll bring him to the trial."

He herded her toward the door. "Go. The men are getting restless and these cells aren't that strong. I beg you, go." Desperation leaked into his voice.

She spun around. And stopped herself at the last minute from kissing him. Her falling ill wouldn't help him get out of here. "I love you."

A small smile touched his lips. "I miss you." Tears welled in his eyes.

The guard stepped forward. "Time's up."

"Keep your leg clean." She slipped the rabies syringe into his hand and met his eyes.

"Go." He slid it in his waistband.

"Out!" The guard snapped the command.

She stepped carefully around the straw, but the guard grabbed her arm and yanked her hard, her belly hitting him.

"Get your hands off her!" Mark ordered and broke between them to free her. Then Mark turned to her. "Are you alright?"

The guard whipped out his baton and slammed it against Mark's back.

A cry of pain and Mark grabbed the bars, stopping himself from slamming into her. He panted shallow breaths like a rib bruised or broke. "Go," he gasped, keeping himself between her and the guard. "Before you get hurt."

The guard raised his baton again.

She darted under his arm and stepped in front of the guard.

"Out of my way!" The guard roared in a fit.

"Tanya," Mark panted, leaning against the bars and holding his side. He was too weak and ill to put up much of a fight.

She stepped out but gave a forceful tug to the man's sleeve, making him stumble out. Then the guard raised the baton at her. But she held her ground.

Mark slammed himself against the door to break out. "NO!" The iron groaned.

"Do it," she hissed. "Let's take battery to a civilian to the Courts. Then we can point out battery to the prisoners."

"Tanya, go," Mark begged, hysterical panic rising in his tone.

Brigands stepped before her as a shield, but she stepped to his side and swept aside the cape to reveal her belly. "Death to the future Duke carries heavy charges." Please, let him believe the lie or be too dumb to know better.

The guard paled. "You can't prove it. Murderers and thieves are not witnesses!"

Sending up a prayer that the sheriff had been able to sneak in to testify to any harm he'd witness to Mark, she said with a tone of steel, "Sheriff."

The sheriff stepped out from a dark corner of the hall. "I saw the entire thing." He came forward with shackles. "You're under arrest for assault." He slapped them on the guard and hauled him out.

She met MArk's wide eyes. "I'm bringing you a lawyer to the trial," she stated.

"Tanya, how did you know to bring the sheriff?" He leaned against the bars, holding his side.

"I may not be smart like you, but I have enough streets smarts. My dear, I fear we're in a situation where I have the upper hand on you."

He cracked a smile. "Tanya, you're intelligent in many ways - you just don't know it yet. I have a feeling England is about to deal with a force to be reckoned with."

She held her head high, feeling every bit the marchioness, if not a queen, for the first time. Her gaze could level any man. "Oh, I will bring Hell, husband." Then she handed the medical bag to Brigands and folded her hands. Then she turned back to Mark. "I will return in seven days."

"Yes, my lady." Hope glinted in Mark's eyes. "I believe even the guards will announce your arrival."

Her eyes held his, unwavering and fierce. "No." The helplessness and grief disappeared, replaced with determination that the King himself ought to fear. "The cannon fire will."


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Ah! The reviews are climbing. :)**

 **I tried to find where I mentioned 'Tim' earlier in the story but couldn't. In the original draft I wrote almost a decade ago, I had him early on in the story but changed it now - seemed like a nice little way of showing that Mark cares for Brigands that he brought in help with the workload so Brigands can see to his wife more. Maybe I missed pulling that out in the early chapters. If it's in there, pretend there wasn't a cook until Tim came in a couple chapters ago. :)**

* * *

Even though she ran from appointment to appointment to meet with lawyers the next week, the days dragged on forever. Brigands refused to take her to 'that hell hole' again, so it was at the trial that she saw Mark next.

The place overflowed with gawkers, reporters and anyone eager to see him sentenced to death. The crowd could be heard as they cast slurs and insults at him. She glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Berthamore, England's fiercest lawye. The lawyer from Mark's previous trial, Mr. Tibbs, followed as she shoved through the crowds. The trial started one minute ago. "Hurry!" She called to them and pressed on.

Guards held the crowds back from the doors. She came toe-to-toe with a rough, brawny man who would've frightened her days ago. "I have lawyers for my husband's trial. Let us through." The stress and hardship of the past week gave a hard edge to her tone.

The man blinked and then his face stoned over. "No. The trial already started."

Mr. Berthamore caught up. "It started a minute ago! Let us in!"

"Keep them out! He doesn't deserve a lawyer!" Someone in the crowd called.

The last thing needed right now was a riot. She pointed to the left to no one in particular. "Then why is he here?" The moment the guard looked to the left, she ducked around him and banged both doors open to the courtroom. All eyes flew to her as she marched down the aisle to the front of the room, Mr. Berthamore smothering a chuckled behind her.

No one would've ever known Mark had once been a rich, proud man. His clothes were tattered, filthy and caked in what looked suspiciously like old blood speckles where there wasn't dirt. He'd obviously been denied a bath, shave and comb for days, which the lawyers said the Courts would do to make him look like a broken man - and further his appearance as a man wrestling with a guilty conscience. They hadn't only shackled his wrists but his ankles as well. Shock widened his eyes the moment his gaze met hers.

"Guards! Get them out!" the judge called.

That finally pushed her over the edge. She stormed to the railing at the front of the Court, her heart pounding with outrage. "These are Marcus Debonairo's lawyers. If you try him without representation, I will take this ruling to the King to be thrown out!"

The judge stared, speechless for a moment. "Who the hell are you?" Even the jury gawked.

"His wife. The council the Court has provided him is hereby removed - "

"You cannot do it after the trial starts," the judge said, an arrogant smile touching his lips - a judge out for Mark's blood too.

"Actually, Your Honor - " Mr. Tibbs began.

"Everyone has not been sworn in, so my husband can do any damn thing he wants with his council," she spat.

The judge looked at Mr. Tibbs and Berthamore behind her. "Are you two going be counselors or is she?"

Mr. Berthamore folded his hands and grinned. "She's doing a fine job, Your Honor."

"Thank God women cannot be counsel, or I'd end the trial here to shut her up," the judge muttered. He looked at Mark with little patience. "Do you wish to replace your counsel?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Mark rasped.

"Fine. Counselors, your names and then take your seats."

Mr. Tibbs announced himself and a soft murmur buzzed around the room. Mark cracked a smile, apparently pleased at her choice. When Mr. Berthamore gave his name, stunned silence filled the room - even Mark's mouth hung open. The judge even cursed.

She took her seat, the only one on Mark's side of the Court. Mark turned and met her gaze, the shock still apparent. But hope replaced the humiliation in his eyes. 'Thank you,' he mouthed, and a slow smile spread over his lips as he shook his head, like he couldn't believe that she actually had come, cannons firing.

Prosecuting lawyers went straight for the jugular, accusing Mark left, right, front and back. They did a fine job of making him look like a horrible human being for whom the gallows was too quick of a death.

The moment Mr. Berthamore opened his mouth, he blasted everyone out of the water.

The temperatures in the room climbed from the crowd with each passing hour as the prosecutors tried time and time again to thwart Mr. Berthamore and Tibbs. They seemed to have the bloodthirsty lawyers under control, so she slipped outside into the cold winter air as the temperature inside made the room spin. Holding her back to ease the aching of sitting for four hours, she stood at the bottom of the courthouse steps a few feet from the crowd. She looked up at the snowflakes that drifted down in quiet peacefulness.

The crowd hummed as word of what was being said in the trial made it's way out to the steps.

"They said he saved the woman from certain death." One man turned to her, obviously having no idea who she was. "How can they say that when he murdered his late wife just years ago? It was another woman he tried to kill now too."

She stuck her hands in her cape to hide her belly and identity and took the opportunity. "Didn't you hear? His late wife had cancer that had spread through her body. He tried a new treatment that has been found to work in a few women, but he found the cancer too late." More eyes turned to her. "She died from the cancer, not from him."

"But I heard - " A woman frowned.

"You heard the rumors here in town. I heard it from a physician who was there for her death. Debonairo didn't kill her." No need to say that physician had been Mark. More eyes focused on her, people obviously confused. "The woman he operated on last week - she had tumors of the belly. Physicians thought him mad for his diagnosis, and she was on her deathbed. I saw her myself a couple days ago - she's no longer bedridden and looks as healthy as a horse."

A man snorted. "He tried to kill her too. He's a monster. Physicians didn't agree, so he - "

She met his eyes. "That man was once one of the best physicians who introduced ideas that saved countless women in childbirth. Was he not once the one you wanted there for yourselves, your wives and daughters during childbirth because his patients rarely died?"

Some of them looked away.

The words came calm and sad. "He knew when he did that woman's surgery that he was trading his life for hers. He saved a woman. And yet we scream to crucify him. Whom does that make the monster?"

They had no words for that.

One woman met her eyes. "Years ago, my sister gave birth in another town. She bled and bled and the babe died. The midwife said she would die. Her husband rode all night to find Dr. Debonairo. He did crazy, unconventional treatment. But she lived and had two more babies who lived."

The crowd on the steps murmured at the story, no longer paying attention to the trial. If they could be turned, a riot in favor of Mark if the Court found him guilty just might save him. She spoke up and took the opportunity that presented itself. "When I was with child, I was sickly and the babe threatened to come early. Dr. Debonairo stopped childbirth and the babe grew strong. He saved my babe and likely me." Her heart beat faster with hope as stories of distant friends or relatives who survived because of Mark crept out of the woodwork.

"He saved my daughter's friend!" A man from the top of the steps near the doors caught everyone's attention.

"My granddaughter!" Someone else to the left called.

"My nephew was a stillborn delivered two months early! He brought him back!" Another from the opposite side of the crowd called.

"Maybe he did poison his wife, but what if it was a mistake?" A man called. "What if he was trying so hard to save her like he has others that he didn't have any option left? What if poison, just a little, is what he was told would cure the cancer? What if she was too weak and what should've worked didn't? Did he mean to? No! We condemned him and sent him to an asylum. He's left us alone for six years, hasn't he? My wife is a midwife who worked with Debonario to learn his ways. She swears she has saved women using what he taught her!"

"He murdered his wife!" Another man called.

"What proof do you have? Even the Court couldn't prove it!" A woman protested. "Free him!"

More and more stories came forth, even being passed along from inside the Courthouse. "Free him!" each one called after telling their tale.

"Free him!" The crowd began to chant, and energy taking hold that offered hope.

Tears burned and she held her hands over her mouth in a silent prayer of thanks. The crowd had too much enthusiasm to be able to push her way into the courtroom, so she stood on the steps and waited.

A roar of cheers exploded an hour later. She grabbed a man's sleeve, unable to hear what everyone was saying at once. "What happened?"

"The Court set him free!"

Her knees buckled from profound relief as she burst into tears.

* * *

The guards came and he stared in shock as they removed the shackles. His eyes lifted to the lawyers, who grinned and shook his hand.

"Does it feel good to be a free man? Don't just stand there gawking, man. Go find your wife!"

It had to be a dream. "I'm free? To leave?" That couldn't be. They had to be taking him to an asylum or another prison. It couldn't be this easy.

"Free as a bird! And I daresay your wife is outside starting the riot for your freedom," Mr. Berthamore smiled.

"Free him! Free him!" The chant leaked into the courtroom.

A choked cry of relief, joy, disbelief all rolled into one burst out. Tears fell.

Mr. Tibbs smiled. "She got a room for you both at the inn."

"She knew I'd get out?" Tears streamed down with joy yet.

Mr. Berthamore snorted. "The woman wouldn't accept any other answer. She barged into my office four days ago and demanded I take your case. When I said I couldn't because I had too much work, she sat outside my office all day for two days, harassing me about it any time I stepped out of my office. I gave in just to shut her up. Damn persistent she is. Anyways, she insisted on the inn because she said you're in no shape to travel home yet."

He clutched their hands. "Thank you."

"Don't thank us until you see the bill," Mr. Tibbs laughed. "Go tell your wife the good news."

He hobbled toward the doors, his knee unable to bend and making the journey to Tanya far too long.

"Debonario! Take this!"

Turning, he caught Mr. Berthamore's cane that flew through the air. "Thank you!" He opened the door and the crowd cheered and the press shoved forward. He stopped in his tracks and stared. Instead of slurs and punches, people slapped him on the back in congratulations.

"How does it feel to be free?'

"Are you going to demand a retrial for your license?"

The press pelted questions and the crowd made it hard to go anywhere. Finally, he looked at them and pleaded, "I just wish to hold my wife." An impossibly stupid grin took hold. "I don't know why, but she loves me."

The crowd laughed and a couple men pushed back. "Let him through!"

"Let him through! Get the man his wife!"

"Find his wife!"

A path slowly opened. His heart beat faster and he limped toward the front doors. Just on the other side. Dreams had been plagued by this moment that he hadn't thought would come. And yet it tasted sweeter than he could've imagined. She must be out on the top steps rallying the crowd.

But they still called to find his wife when he stepped outside. His eyes scanned for a beautiful face, ignoring the shivers from the cold in his tattered clothes. Disappointment heavied his heart. She wasn't here. Maybe the inn. "Where's the inn?"

"A woman left the crowd in a large black cape. She went the direction of the inn!" Someone pointed to the right.

Black cape - she must be wearing his yet to keep the babe warm. Hands took his arms and assisted him down the steps, excitement rising again to find her.

"Do you want my carriage?" A small woman pointed to her conveyance at the bottom of the steps.

His eyes narrowed, trying to place her. Ten years ago. A cottage outside of France and her daughter having a difficult birth. Her daughter and grandson pulled through in the end. He smiled. "Thank you, but bouncing in a carriage may bring me to tears." He hurried down the street as fast as possible.

Every bone hurt by the time he reached the inn two blocks away. He hurried through the front door.

"Marquess Debonairo?" The innkeeper, a middle aged man, looked up from the desk and didn't seem the least bit offended by his appearance.

"Yes?"

"Your wife said you'd be coming. Room five." He pointed to the staircase.

"Thank you."

"Do you need help - "

He plowed up the steps, stumbling and forcing his knee to cooperate. "No, thank you!" Never in ten minutes had he said 'thank you' as many times, but it felt wonderful. Like being born a new man. Being given a second chance at life. Because of the angel upstairs. He half hopped up the stairs, unable to hurry fast enough and not caring who saw him look like an idiot.

He stood before room five, his heart thundering. His hands trembled. What to say? What to do? It was like being born again, this time having something to live for. Closing his eyes, he basked in this moment, this thrill of coming home - because home was where she was. Then he opened the door and stepped inside, so happy he could burst. Except the room was empty. A note lay on the bed. He limped over. Maybe it was the wrong room.

 _Getting dinner. Back soon._

 _Tanya_

Tears spilled over like a child as the disappointment swelled and broke his heart, the ache physically painful. All he wanted was her.

* * *

She dragged her feet up the stairs, nervous about how she'd be received. The last time Mark had come home from a trial, it'd been after Anna's death and the asylum. His feelings of guilt and grief would surely be stronger than when he'd left. And he'd resent coming back to a woman who wasn't Anna.

She stared at the door, almost not wanting to open it. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped in with the food and set it on the table by the door. Then she looked up.

He stood at the vanity mirror, already washed and just finishing a shave. He wore nothing but a towel around his waist. His eyes met hers in the reflection, and he patted his face dry and turned with a soft smile.

The breath caught in her chest and her hands flew to her mouth to muffle the gasp of horror. His body hardly had a single spot without black, green or purple bruises. Abrasions spotted his torso and arms. Welts mapped his back in the mirror's reflection, and his knee was swollen to almost twice it's size. "Oh my god!" She sank onto the edge of the bed as tears rolled down.

"I'm alright." He limped over, tears on his own face. He tugged her to her feet and wrapped his arms around in a fierce hug.

"I don't even know where to touch you," she wept.

"Anywhere."

So she wrapped her arms around his neck, weeping as much as him.

She finally pulled the handkerchief out from across her dress and dabbed at his eyes. "What happened?"

He looked away.

"You're not hoarse from being ill, are you?"

His body visibly tensed. "I don't want to talk about it."

Biting her lip, she set a single finger on his cheek, careful of the bruises on his jaw that had been masked by the beard. "Do you need me to fetch a physician?"

Those blue eyes shifted to her. "Will you? No questions."

He needed to feel safe with her, so she nodded. "Sit. I'll get your bag." She tugged his hand for him to rest on the bed.

Shame touched his eyes. He averted his gaze and shook his head.

Laying her fingers on his arm for a brief moment in comfort, she went to get his bag. Something happened taht made him not want to sit...perhaps the unspeakable. He didn't want to talk, so she would do everything to make him feel safe. She washed and then stood before him and eyed the bruises, likely cracked ribs, abrasions, sutures left in too long, swollen knee, fever...so many places to start. After giving him something for the pain, she looked up at him. "What do you want me to start with first?"

He gave a small shrug and shake of his head, so unlike his usually opinionated self.

"We'll start with the sutures and work our way down." His poor flesh bled from removing ingrown sutures, but he remained quiet and still. "Are you hungry?"

Another shake of his head.

Cleaning the fresh wounds from the sutures, she glanced up at his face. "I missed you. Do you want to sleep when we're done?"

He nodded.

Touching his smooth, freshly shaven cheek, she held his eyes. "Whatever they did doesn't matter to me. You were brave and ended up in there because you did the honorable thing treating her. I love you."

Tears welled in his eyes but he still didn't say anything.

She swallowed hard. He didn't need her to fall apart right now but be the strong one. "I've heard that the guards do things to the prisoners. It doesn't mean you're less of a man."

His chest rose and fell faster.

"I hope that one day I make you feel safe enough to tell me." Raising onto her toes, she brushed a kiss over his lips and then continued washing the other abrasions on his chest and back. "Would it help to wrap your ribs for support? You're terribly bruised like one may be cracked." After he nodded, she wrapped a bandage around his middle as he breathed through the pain. That brought her to the towel around his waist. His hand clutched to keep the towel closed. She looked up at him. "May I check underneath?"

His eyes searched her for a moment, his brow furrowed with worry. His forehead wrinkled as he seemed to debate. Then his hand slowly unfisted.

Bracing for anything so as not to react and make him ashamed, she eased open the towel. Bruises darkened delicate flesh and he was swollen to almost twice his size everywhere. An infection of some sort or some kind of sick beating did this - either way, they'd humiliated him in a way no human being should be. And she understood all too well how afraid he must be to be vulnerable to her. Keeping her voice level, she kept her eyes focused on checking for cuts so he wouldn't see the worry, and asked, "Do you need medicine, or is this just swelling?"

"Swelling," he said quietly.

She got up and checked his backside. The moment she touched the rag to a small cut on his backside, he startled and darted away a few steps. "I'm sorry," she said and didn't move, looking up at his frightened eyes. "There's a small cut that's red like it may be getting infected. I won't touch anywhere else without asking." Her heart pounded, afraid to know.

He didn't move for nearly a full minute. His heart thuded so hard it moved his chest. Then he stepped closer and turned to offer his side.

That simple gesture of profound trust twisted her heart. She stood and wrapped the towel around his waist. "I'll just lift it where I need to reach the cut." Kneeling behind him again, she swallowed hard. It had to be something terrible to make a man like him so afraid, so beaten down. Once she finished with the cut, she knelt in front of him again and looked up. "I'm just going to feel how high the swelling goes from you knee." No protest or sign of disagreement came, so she wrapped her hands as much as she could around his thigh, her hands disappearing under the towel before muscle instead of swelling became apparent. "Do you want to lie down and I can rub your leg to help with the swelling?"

"Eat your food."

So she washed her hands. He eased into bed a bit awkwardly, getting in on his hip as if to avoid sitting. The man propped up on his side, grimacing in pain until finally seeming to get comfortable enough. She slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed and held a piece of chicken to his lips. "Will you eat a bit?"

He ate the piece and laid a hand on her belly, not offering any words.

Perhaps focusing on something else would make him come out of his shell. "We missed you. He didn't let me sleep much - I think we're used to your hand there when we sleep."

"It feels like it's been years," he whispered, staring at her belly. "You're more beautiful than I remembered."

"You mean larger?" Keeping the conversation light would help coax him out of his shell. She smiled and balanced the plate on her bump.

"Has the babe been sound?"

She fed him another piece of chicken and then ate one. "He has. Do you want some biscuit?" Then she held it out.

He shook his head. "The babe wants it."

She laughed and had to grab the plate before it fell. "And what else does the babe want?" She finished off the plate and set it on the nightstand.

He slid up the nightgown to bare her belly and ran his hand over the mound. Then he leaned up on his elbow with a soft grunt of pain for his ribs and kissed the baby.

Tears welled, and she ran a hand through his hair as he rested his cheek on her belly. "You're home, Mark. You're safe."

His head lifted and a tear ran down his cheek. "Lie with me," he whispered and eased up her nightgown.

Sitting up, she let him pull the nightgown over her head and then laid down facing him, tucking her hands under her cheek.

He laid down and took her hand, coaxing her to turn away. Then his arm slipped around to cup her belly and his poor leg draped over hers, spooning the closest he ever had. "I didn't think I'd have this again," he whispered.

The tears couldn't be held back any longer. Her face crumpled and she laced her fingers with his. "I was scared that..." The sobs took over. When he rolled her over, his arms slipped around and he held her close against his chest...like he'd never let go.

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night again. Mark got back in bed for the second time. "Are you alright?" With a yawn, she rolled toward him. His stomach rumbled when she laid a hand across his belly. "Are you ill?" She felt his warm brow.

"Fine," he grunted and moved her hand up to his chest.

The fever, upset stomach, loss of appetite, the filth of the prison...it made sense. "Oh, Mark, do you have dysentery?" She sat up, her heart beating fast. Few survived dysentery.

He shivered from the fever. "Get my bag." After she pulled up the blankets on him higher and then pulled on her nightgown before fetching his bag, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. "Ask the innkeeper for salt and egg white."

She frowned but didn't question him as he dug out a vial labeled saline. When she returned with the items, he dumped them into the vial and mixed them up. "What are you doing?"

"This was the only treatment that Dr. William O'Shaughnessy found to help during the London epidemic forty years ago." He pulled out a syringe and filled it with the disgusting mixture. Then he sank back against the pillows, his face so pale as he held out the syringe, his hand shaking. "I can't." Then he grabbed the basin and got ill.

Setting aside the basin when he finished, she swallowed down her nerves. "Walk me through this." Following his directions, she cleaned his arm and injected the large volume of fluid over several minutes. Then she pressed a bandage to his arm. "I should send for the doctor."

He shook his head. "I think it's from parasites. It peaks about a week after being infected. You shouldn't catch it, but wash your hands."

* * *

"Your ribs are showing." Tanya frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, running her hands down his sides.

He sat up against the pillows, having energy to talk for the first time in a week. "I haven't eaten much of anything for two weeks," he grunted. "Hurry up." He'd been looking forward to a bath all week - a real bath - now that the fever had broken. His ribs protested the movement, however.

When she handed him the cane, he pushed himself to his feet and blinked as the room swayed for a moment. Her arm wrapped around his middle. Dear god, it was good to feel her little body against him again and be well enough to enjoy it. He draped an arm over her shoulders, mindful to not lean too heavily. Then he started the laborious journey to the steaming tub that the innkeeper had set up near the fireplace.

The woman stepped in front of him and pulled down his pants. He growled in frustration as his body became very aware of her stripping him.

She glanced up from where she knelt and helped balance him to step out of the pants. "I'm glad you're well enough to growl again." Then she smiled in that way that made his heart stumble.

"It was nice being too ill to be irritated," he grumbled. "Hurry up, woman." If he didn't get in the tub soon, she'd run screaming at how much he throbbed for her. That only made her giggle in that soft twinkling way, making all the goddamn blood rush between his legs.

The chit glanced on her way standing up and smiled. "I see you're healing." She took his hand to help him in the tub.

"If it's so amusing, you can get in the damn tub too," he snapped.

"Do you think we'd fit? It'd be nice to have a real bath." She reached down and felt the water temperature.

His jaw dropped. His goddamn ribs could go to Hell if she was going to strip - nothing would keep him from sinking into her beautiful body.

Those brown eyes turned to him with a gleam. "I'm teasing. I love it when you're speechless."

Snapping his mouth shut, he glared. "It was far more quiet in prison," he barked.

Her smile faded.

"And I hated every goddamn minute of it," he growled, caught her hand and pulled her closer. His mouth crushed down on her soft, warm lips. Then he let go and stepped into the tub. "Well, are you going to wash me?" By god, the steamy water seeped into his aching muscles and bruises. He reclined back, quite curious if she'd take the bait.

The chit stood there with wide eyes. "Wash you?" she squeaked.

The woman had seen him as sick as a dog and at Death's door but hadn't cried foul all week. This, ironically, offended her sensibilities. Holding in a smile, he met her with a level gaze and firm tone. "You wash yourself, do you not?"

"Well, yes."

"Then stop acting like it's hard," he snapped.

"I was just wondering if you expect me to wash..." Her eyes darted down between his legs and flew back up, her cheeks pinks.

That would be the best part. And also give her time to learn about a man without being afraid of sex. He cocked an eyebrow. "Or I can wash you instead." She wouldn't take that bait, of course.

The woman snatched a rag in a hurry. "You are a terrible rake," she scolded and rolled up her sleeves. Then she soaped the cloth and ran it down his neck and chest, avoiding eye contact.

Perhaps he'd been a bit too blunt. "I have a week of being gone to make up for," he grunted.

But she just frowned in confusion and met his eyes. "Of barking at me?" She ran the rag over his shoulders.

He cleared his throat, his heart pounding in self-consciousness at having to explain. The chit had damn pudding for brains at the moment, apparently. "Of looking at you," he snapped.

Her eyebrows knit. "And that puts you in a bad mood?"

With a deep growl of frustration, he sighed. "Did I ever say I don't like looking at you?" He gripped the edge of the tub and pulled himself forward for her to wash his back, hissing in pain at the protest from his ribs.

She frowned and did his back quick. "So you do? You didn't want me around before."

"I said you're beautiful the night I got back, did I not?" he barked and sat back.

"But you were feverish and overtired. I didn't think you meant it." She smiled.

"Well, I did, goddammit!" The damn woman had a way of making him spill compliments.

The chit sat back. And tears shimmered in her eyes. "Truly? You think I'm pretty?"

Had no one ever told her? Female tears made his stomach churn. Her tears, in particular, made something in his chest ache. "That's not what I said," he huffed. "'Beautiful' is not 'pretty.' I could tell a hundred women they're pretty." He threw her a look.

She searched his eyes. "How many would you tell them that they're beautiful?"

His brow knit so fierce that it caused a headache. "I wouldn't!" Then he blinked. The brat had just gotten him to admit that he found her exceptionally attractive. Dammit, he wasn't some sentimental fool!

A tear rolled down her cheek and her face glowed with the most precious smile.

Tears pricked behind his eyes at how much she cherished the compliment. No one made him cry! The damn chit made him entirely too soft. He cleared his throat. It had to be the illness messing with his head yet. "Finish before the water gets cold," he grunted, rested his head back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes so she could explore without being embarrassed.

She ran the rag over every part except where he could damn well use a woman. The moment a light, small stroke touched the delicate flesh, he tensed as blood rushed. Oh dear god, this might be worst torture than in prison. Holding still, he concentrated on not panting like a damn dog and keeping his eyes closed so as not to frighten her.

Another stroke, a bit bolder. The rag, thank the stars - her direct touch would've been too much. The rag swept over and round and then disappeared. Goddammit, the chit was done. That'd gone too fast.

"Mark? How will that not hurt? You're so big." Her voice quivered.

God bless it, he'd scared her. Keeping his eyes closed, he said, "You will be able to comfortably fit me if you're pleasured, and I won't just ram."

"Oh." Silence for a moment. "Am I allowed to tell you to stop if it hurts?"

His eyes snapped open and he scowled. "You'll damn well tell me to stop if you so much as get frightened."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You're an odd man, Mark. I've heard stories of husbands demanding their wedding night, yet you seem in no rush." When he opened his mouth in protest, she smiled and seemed so happy. "I like that you're odd. It makes me love you more."

That warm fuzzy glow bloomed in his chest, just like every time she mentioned the L-word. It wouldn't do at all. He cleared his throat and delivered a stern look. "You're the slowest bather in history, woman."

"Yes, Mark," she purred, not seeming to care one bit. Then she leaned forward, set a hand in the water on his sound thigh and pressed a kiss to his lips.

That goddamn made him cup her delicate face in his hands so she wouldn't break the kiss too soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: A request came through to put at the end of a chapter when I'll post next. I post as I have time between working full-time, being a single mom and life, so I have no idea when pockets of time to write will pop up. Sometimes it's every night and sometimes it's 30 min here and there over a couple weeks.**

 **My writing style is uncommon from what other published authors tell me in that I write the bones and then go through and apply the meat. Then I go through and fine-tune body language. Then I go through again and make the emotional connection to the reades/characters. Finally, I go through and edit. I technically should edit twice because I always miss things, but I'm doing this for fun and figure readers will forgive minor spelling/autocorrect and grammatical mistakes here and there. So, I'm actually reading/writing each chapter about 5 times to pull it all together. Hence, it takes me awhile to write a chapter. My Tinkerbelle series was easy to write fast, but these B &B stories have more depth and require more time.**

 **Becoming a story follower should send you an email whenever a new chapter posts so you don't have to keep checking.**

* * *

She grabbed Mark's ledger and some papers on his desk in order for him to work in bed a couple days later. The swelling of his poor knee took it's time going down and pained him more than his ribs. For some reason, the man seemed to avoid his cane.

He'd said he needed a black book too. Digging through the desk drawers, she frowned. Maybe it was in the safe. He'd left a paper on the desk when he'd gone to prison, with directions of where to find all important papers, banking information and other details.

Pulling out the list from the top drawer, she walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside. A safe in the wall blended in. Turning the knob with the code, she opened the door. Stacks of papers laid inside but no black book. A single envelope folded up and shoved in the back looked like Papa's handwriting on the outside. With a frown, she pulled it out.

She opened it. A transaction of Papa receiving three hundred pounds...in exchange for giving her hand in marriage to some man named Gregory Richards. Blood drained to her feet. Another paper for a transfer - Mark paying one thousand pounds to this Mr. Richards in exchange for her. She'd been sold. And Mark had lied.

The bedchamber door banged against the wall and swung forward again with the force. She caught it and marched inside. "What is this?!" Flinging the papers at Mark sitting up in bed, she fisted her hands in fury.

He frowned and picked up the papers in his lap as he pulled on his reading spectacles. Then he paled. "Shit."

"That's exactly what you're in! What is that?!"

After pulling off his glasses, he ran a hand over his face. "I forgot I still had that. Sit, Tanya."

"No! Why do you have sale papers for me?!" Her heart slammed and nails bit into her palms as the tears welled. This could be expected from Papa, but Mark had promised he hadn't exchanged any coin for her - that he hadn't been bribed. It never occured to ask if she'd been bought. "What did he promise you in exchange for a thousand pounds?!"

He held her eyes. "Nothing. You were not bought and sold," he said, his voice so calm. "Our fathers grew up together. Mine always spoke highly of yours for saving him when he slipped into a river as a child." He held out his hand in encouragement to sit.

She folded her hands over her chest, so he dropped his hand.

"About two months before I came for you, I stopped at a tavern in town after my horse threw a shoe. While it was being repaired, I went inside for a drink. I overheard someone say your father's name. Curiosity won out to meet him, and I walked over to the table where he played cards. He was in tears. Apparently the night before, he'd been drunk and had agreed to marry you to Richards in exchange for debt being erased."

She raised her chin. A plausible story, except for one part. "You didn't even want a wife - you wouldn't have paid a thousand pounds for me."

He snorted. "Clearly you haven't heard of Richards' reputation - his wives don't often live for more than a year after the honeymoon...assuming some kind of mysterious accident doesn't befall them on the honeymoon." He ignored her look of horror. "When I introduced myself, your father recognized my last name. He was distraught and asked me to play Richards in cards to win you back."

"You wouldn't play cards for a woman you didn't know - "

"I'm not enough of a cad to send a woman to the chopping block." He gave her a look. "Richards would sell his own mother if it earned him a haypence. I'm not a gambling man, and selling and buying women is illegal. So, I offered to pay Richards for 'damages' of a broken engagement. Richards did it without hesitation. Your father was so distraught that he might get drunk and do it again that he insisted I wed you and wrote this out to be proof should anyone else claim you." He held out the papers. "Put them in the fire."

She didn't move. "You bought me." Humiliation swam up and she wrapped her arms around herself. "He didn't even tell you about the babe or anything, did he? I asked you - "

"You asked me how much _I_ was paid for you," he corrected. "I did not buy you, woman," he snorted. "I intended to hand over the money and walk away. Your father had this strange notion that because I'm my father's son, I'd be a good husband. He knew he was dying and begged me to look after you. Burn the papers," he ordered and held them out.

Grabbing the notes, she threw them in the fire and stared as they curled up and turned to ash. The tale made sense - Papa would've done something drunk like that. And Mark would've done something honorable like that.

"You regret your father's choice in husband?" he barked, as if bristling helped him hide his hurt.

Resting her hands over her belly, she shook her head. "It was luck more than character judgement, I think," she turned her head to look at him, "but it's the only selfless thing he's ever done for me."

His face softened. "He loved you, he just didn't know how."

"And for the record..." she held his eyes, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The man looked away and his throat visibly contracted in a hard swallow. He patted the bed, still not looking her way. "Dress off." The words came out a bit thick.

With hot cheeks, she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed so he could undo the buttons at her back. Then she slipped it off and climbed into bed beside him, watching in curiosity as he worked up the chemise. "Are you going to bed me?"

The man froze and blinked. Then he scowled. "No!" He huffed and resumed pulling it over her belly. "I think my honor is in danger once we consummate - you'll be jumping me every day with your pregnancy horniness," he mumbled.

She frowned. "I don't think it'd be good for me to jump when my belly is this big. That doesn't sound comfortable either."

He stilled and his eyebrows rose. "Nevermind." His hands swept over her belly and he lightly palpated. The babe kicked in protest, making the corner of Mark's mouth tug up just a hint. Then he set a hand at the top of her womb and one down at the bone below.

"What are you doing?" She whispered so as not to break his concentration.

"Measuring the babe," he whispered.

She smiled at his playfulness and continued the whispers. "Why?" He seemed so enthralled with the babe. It was so sweet.

"Because you looked rather large standing at the fire," he replied in hushed tones.

"What?!" She pushed away his hands.

"Settle down, woman. It was the way your dress hung. You measure fine." He frowned like he should be the offended one.

Pushing herself out of bed, she pulled on the dress.

"Tanya - "

Spinning around, she sniffled. "You have five seconds to fix it." Irrational tears threatened and her voice quivered. "I feel huge and ugly without you telling me I look like it." Her face crumpled.

His brow furrowed. "Extra amniotic fluid can happen if there are problems. I did not say you're huge and ugly. I told you a few days ago that I think the opposite. The babe is making you irrational and taking this personally. Enough tears."

WIth a sniffle, she tried to stop the waterworks.

"It's a fact - at that angle, I was concerned," he continued, as if uncomfortable with her tears.

She blinked in surprise. "You were worried?"

He scowled. "I was concerned if it was a sign of complications."

SHe brushed away the tears and a hint of a smile tugged. "You were worried about us."

"Don't put words in my mouth, dammit! I don't feel well. As my wife, it's your job to make me feel better! Get over here!" He slammed a hand down on the empty spot in bed beside him.

"You would feel better with me in bed with you?" She cocked her head.

"Don't make me repeat myself!"

"Yes, Mark." She smiled and walked over to the edge of the bed, her smile fading. "But you have to tell me that you don't think I'm a huge cow."

A deep growl rumbled in his chest and he glared beneath his brow. "Woman - "

"Mark," she said softly and rested her hands on her belly, "I'm serious. There are three months left and I'm scared you're going to think I'm fat and repulsive." Tears stung again, irrational and coming out of nowhere but they wouldn't stop. "I know in your travels to the bank, you'll see women much prettier than me who have tiny waists and - "

"It's crass and socially unacceptable to desire a woman who is with child."

The humiliation and shame came back in full force, and she choked on a sob.

"Yet I find my wife more arousing the more her belly grows," he finished quietly.

Tears spilled over from the beauty of his words and her heart melted.

He held out a hand.

She threw herself in his arms and sobbed.

"There's no need for tears," he growled, but his hand stroked her hair as she wept on his chest. "My days were spent working on expecting women. You're as daft as they come to think my own wife would bother me. The babe will make you cry from time to time for no reason." His voice softened. "Let it out."

Her head pounded minutes later, but the strange, oppressing weights had lifted with the tears.

"Better?" he grunted and offered a handkerchief.

She nodded and dried her eyes. Then she dried his wet chest. "Thank you."

"Next time, cry instead of biting my head off," he grumbled but kept a tight hold.

With a watery laugh, she nestled closer. "Oh!" She shot upright. "Did I hurt your ribs?"

His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he tugged her down again, this time resting her head on his shoulder. "Lie your belly gently on my side and tell the babe to not kick my ribs." His hand rested over the babe like always.

"Mark?" The tips of her fingers stroked the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. An important question had been waiting for almost two weeks, and he seemed settled in enough that it was time to ask.

He grunted, his breathing slow and relaxed.

"You don't have to talk about it yet, but did they do something to you in prison?" His body tensed under her hand. "The other prisoner said beating wasn't all they did to you, you were so swollen and you seemed so frightened when I cleaned that wound on your backside."

"There's nothing to talk about. You don't need to be concerned of any disease."

She raised her head and frowned. "I'm asking about you."

He firmly guided her head down to his chest again. "I know," he whispered. "Hush now."

Tears spilled over. "I will not hush! They did something to you. Everyone told _me_ to hush, and it just got worse until you let me talk about it." She drew a deep breath to calm down. "I will not hush." She pressed a kiss to his chest.

"You will hush. This conversation is not decent for a woman and unspeakable in Society."

Pushing up onto her elbow, she looked at his cheeks, stained with shame, and resisted when he tried to press her down again. "I don't care. You can tell me what they did." Silence. She laid her head down and pressed another kiss to his chest. "I will think you're brave and strong and handsome. I'm your wife - our bed should be where it's safe to discuss anything."

His heart pounded in her ear and he fingered her wedding ring where her hand rested on his chest. "A man should not burden his wife's sensibilities - "

She raised her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Do I look like Anna?"

He frowned. "No."

"Then I'm not sure why you're confused who you're talking to. I take it that Anna was raised in a genteel house with a lady's delicate nature."

"Of course." His brow knit in confusion.

"Then you're fortunate because I was raised in slums and do not flinch when someone vomits or their bowels crunch up."

His eyebrows raised, likely shocked.

"I am not as naïve to the world as you think. I know that men are able to be assaulted and pirates have peg boys - "

The man's eyes popped. "Where on earth have you heard such things? A lady - "

She cocked an eyebrow. "I wasn't born a lady. You'd be surprised what genteel men will talk about around un-genteel women. I've witnessed maids and stable boys at it in the barns. I've seen men beaten within inches of their lives outside of questionable taverns."

He stared, as if utterly shocked.

"And I know what it's like to be assaulted and beaten."

His look darkened in anger at those last words.

"So, husband, shock me, because I doubt you will." She leveled him with a challenging look.

His eyes hardened. "Then you are correct, for I have nothing to tell you."

Rumors said the guards sometimes used their batons on men in unspeakable ways. And it must be why Mark avoided his cane like the plague - the jet black cane looked not unlike the batons. It was time to be blunt, for he'd never admit it. Sitting up, she didn't flinch when he cursed and grumbled at having to sit up too.

"Goddammit, woman, you know how to be a pain! If - "

"They used the baton on you in ways it's not intended. And they yanked or squeezed or something to cause bruising and swelling. I think part of the severity of your illness last week was you treated yourself for disease just to be sure. I didn't see mercury in your bag but other medicines that I've never heard of. You're unrthodox but nonetheless a genius with medicine."

He paled and panic flashed through his eyes.

"I know that this getting out to anyone at all would ruin us. But you need to know that I know and you can talk to me. I've suspected it all week and have not shied from you. What is done to you doesn't define you. I think you're all the more brave for it, and I'm honored that you still trusted me enough to let me wash you in the bath a few days ago. In time, the reaction to flinch when your bottom is touched will fade, just like I don't flinch anymore when you see my scars."

"Get out."

She nodded, expecting anger and denial to mask the humiliation and shame of feeling emasculated and violated.

* * *

He stood at the bedchamber door, his head pounding from another tension headache. Or maybe from yelling.

Brigands hurried down the hall. "Yes, my lord?"

"Where is Tanya? She disappeared three hours ago, and the damn chit hasn't come back," he barked.

The man blinked. "The sheriff was on his way by, so she talked him into taking her to the market."

"The market?! What the hell does she need from there?"

"I don't know, sir. All I know is she said to expect her back before dinner. She did not talk to you first?"

"No! The woman shouldn't be bouncing around on a goddamn horse in her condition!"

"The market isn't far, my lord. She insisted on walking."

"You let her leave in winter heavy with child to walk to the market?!" Jesus, she could get too cold, go into labor from exhaustion, get run over, fall on the ice...

Brigands didn't flinch. "Yes, my lord. My impression was you sanctioned it. She is sound and has an able escort should she need assistance."

His blood boiled. Of all the idiotic things for her to do. He opened his mouth.

She flounced around the corner toward the bedchamber, swinging some kind of stick and smiling.

"Who the hell said you could wander the hills in winter in your condition?!" he roared.

She stopped in surprise. "It's sunny outside and there isn't ice. It was fine, worry wart." Then she continued forward with a smile as Brigands slipped away.

"You tell me when you're leaving the house, understood?!"

She beamed. "Yes, Mark."

"Don't 'yes, Mark' me! You could've bled out having the babe on the side of the road or been attacked by highwaymen or - "

"And you are better protection than the sheriff in your condition?" She cocked an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in merriment.

He huffed and stammered for a moment. "I'd protect you better than him!" The moron sheriff might not step in front of a bullet for her.

She laughed, the sound bringing down his blood pressure. "Yes, Mark, I will ask you to take me to market next time so you don't get jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Of course, Mark." Then she held something out. "Look at what I got for you."

Snatching the stick from her, he roared, "Are you listening?! You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!"

The woman folded her hands behind her back and smiled like an innocent schoolgirl. "Yes, Mark, I'm listening. You were jealous and worried."

"Ugghhh!" Stepping back, he slammed the door. The damn chit knew how to drive him insane.

She popped in with a smile and shut the door, as if completely nonplussed. "Do you like it?"

The fierce reply died on his lips as he glanced down at the stick in his hand. A cane carved of wood. The handle wasn't a knob but a linear stick with the cane coming from the center of it, promising easy balance and heavy durability. The craftsmanship was marvelous and elegant.

She beamed and turned it upside down, pointing to the underside of the handle. "I know you get frustrated with your knee, so it will do you good to feel this each time you hold it." A small inscription burned into the wood, offering a light texture. A phrase ran the length of each handle underside.

 _Rescuing, he earned this cane._ _Protecting, he won her heart. T_

It was sentimental and cheesy and...and so damn perfect. The blasted chit didn't care about prison or the limp that may be permanent. She had a gift made like he was some goddamn hero and now gazed up at him like he was the most wonderful man in the world. A lump formed in his throat and she blurred behind tears. Her hand wrapped around his, pressing the cane into his hand. The inscription could be felt against his fingers, always a reminder that the pain and hardship came at an even greater gain - this little minx who never failed to bring out the sun. A tear fell from his lashes to the floor. Thankfully, she didn't see.

"Here. The sheriff is shorter than you. I found a man buying bread next to whom I came up to his shoulder like I do on you. He was cranky at first asking what I was doing." She positioned his hand on the cane just so.

A bubbly laugh came up, making him grab his ribs. How like her to go up to a stranger to measure height.

"I told him I was trying to figure out what size cane for my husband. He was very kind and came over and tried some for me," she chattered and stood back to eye the fit. "Before you yell at me for talking to a stranger, the sheriff was there and said he'd arrest him if he wasn't a gentleman. It looks right. How does it feel?"

He looked down and nodded. Then he met her eyes. Somehow she'd known he couldn't stand to touch his black cane anymore. This slip of a woman had dumped into his lap and turned the world upside down. But instead of black and white, the world held color again.

Her brow knit. "Do you not like it?"

"I do." He cleared his throat. Then he held out his hand and pulled her close. "Thank you." When her arms slipped around, mindful of his ribs, he rested his cheek atop her head. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know." She seemed content to stay there.

It felt safe to let the walls down from time to time with her like this. "Things distressed Anna easily. If something was wrong, I handled it and it was not discussed. I...I don't know what to do with a wife who can be a partner."

"You talk about what you would with a man, but I have the perks of being able to tell about the unmanly things like..." She gasped and raised her head to look at him. "Sentimental things!"

He smothered a laugh to spare his ribs. "You're a saucy brat, you know that?"

"Mm, I know." Her smile grew. "Kiss me to teach me a lesson."

She was witty, intelligent, fiery, sweet, beautiful, strong and funny...and she loved _him_. Lowering his head, he gave a kiss that left her clinging tight.

* * *

She stirred the gravy as Cook chopped carrots for dinner the next afternoon. Someone knocked at the front door. She exchanged a questioning glance with Cook. No one was expected and Mark still had trouble getting down the stairs, so he worked in the bedchamber again.

"Ow!" He dropped the knife and grabbed his finger.

"Are you alright?"

A red droplet formed. "I think I need Brigands to stitch." He went to the sink to wash it.

The knock came again. Brigands must be seeing to his wife. "I'll grab him after I get the door."

Crossing the foyer, she opened the door. A beautiful, obviously wealthy woman nearly a head taller stood on the step. A fancy coach with a crest waited in the drive.

"I'm here to see Marquess Debonairo," the woman said in a haughty tone and looked down her nose.

She cocked an eyebrow. "He's not well. I'll give him the message that you called - "

"Tell him it's urgent - he'll see me."

Dislike for the woman grew with each second. "And you are...?"

"Viscountess Astor of Coulress," the woman huffed, as if offended that she didn't know.

"I'll tell him, but he's really not feeling well. Come in and make yourself comfortable in the sitting room." She began to show the woman the way.

The Viscountess sneered at the flowers and little touches she'd added to the house. "I assume these are your doing? How quaint. The Marquess prefers things of taste, though." The woman looked at her belly. "I'm surprised he's keeping you."

Gritting her teeth, she veered for the stairs and left the woman to find the sitting room herself. Satisfaction would come when Mark sent her back to kick the woman out.

Mark sat in bed with the bandage around his ribs and ice directly on his poor knee while he worked on a ledger. The sheet draped across his lap and his pants laid over the chair. He looked up when she charged in.

"Some Viscountess Ass is downstairs. I told her that you weren't well, but she insists you'll see her," she spat. Mark wouldn't even go downstairs for meals or work because of the knee pain. He wouldn't go down for some haughty brat.

"Who?" He frowned.

"Viscountess Astor." She set a hand on her hip.

He set aside the ledger and swung his legs over the side, breathing deep through the pain.

Her mouth fell open. "You're going?"

"Yes," he said, as if it was obvious. "Fetch my pants."

Spinning on her heel, she mocked his words under her breath and tossed him his pants.

"Where's the cane?" He frowned and looked around as he tugged on his pants.

"Next to the nightstand, where you left it," she said dryly. With a sigh, she walked over and helped him get his pantleg over his knee that refused to bend enough for him. He picked up his shirt to put on.

"Don't even try." She helped him. Then she helped him up and followed him out, veering to go to her own chambers and avoid the brat.

"Come."

She spun around with wide eyes. "I have to come?"

"It would be rude not to."

" _She's_ rude." She folded her arms over her chest, feeling like a child pouting. But that woman had no right to come in here and be so disrespectful and judgmental.

He cracked a smile. "Then we'll set her straight. Come."

"Fine. But I have to get Brigands quick." She walked down the hall, taking her time so the woman could wait. Then she poked her head around the door where Brigands helped his wife take another lap around the room, per Mark's instructions to help speed her recovery. "Brigands, Tim cut his finger with a knife and needs stitches. There's a guest here that Mark says I have to meet."

"Yes, my lady. I'll be right down." He helped his wife to the bed and pressed a kiss to her weathered cheek. "I'll be right back, my love."

"I'll keep, dear," his wife replied with a smile.

She walked down the hall with him and stared at the rug. "You take good care of her. I envy her sometimes, Brigands."

"If you had surgery, the Marquess would fret over you too." He smiled.

"He would probably bark at me to heal faster."

He laughed. "And _then_ he would fret over you." He continued down the steps while she stopped beside Mark.

"Go down the stairs behind me so if I trip I won't take you down, and if you trip, I might be enough to stop your fall - "

"I know, I know!"

"My, you can be surly. I just don't want you to fall. Settle down." He sounded slightly amused.

" _You_ settle down. I don't know why I have to come," she huffed at the back of his head as she followed. The man actually chuckled.

She hung back in the doorway while he went to the woman.

The Viscountess looked sweet and innocent. "Mark, I knew you'd come to see me," she purred and stood to give him a hug.

"I must decline - cracked ribs." He held up a hand.

"Oh, you poor thing! I heard you got hurt rescuing someone." Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek instead.

The dislike of the woman intensified.

"Yes, well, I'm on the mend. How are you, Jessica?"

"You heard Frank passed," she said dramatically.

"I did. I'm sorry."

The Viscountess wiped away an imaginary tear. "Yes, he was seventy-one, so it was to be expected."

They were so informal with each other.

"Please, sit. Would you like tea or biscuits?"

She watched in amazement as Mark became quite the civil man.

"Tea is fine."

Mark looked over at her. "Would you...?" He gave an apologetic look. With Becky away today and Brigands stitching Tim, it left her.

Eating a spider would've been preferable, but she took a deep breath and left to go make tea.

She stormed into the kitchen where Brigands and Tim sat at the table doing stitches. Grabbing the tea pot, she filled it with water and banged it onto the stove. Then she flung firewood into the oven.

"I will do that in a moment, Marchioness," Tim said.

"No, I want that brat out of here." She lit the fire and then turned. The men stared at her.

"Is everything alright?" Brigands frowned.

"No! Some Viscountess Astor brat is here and drooling all over Mark!" She huffed and folded her arms over her chest.

"So remind him to drool all over you." Tim shrugged.

"Manners, man," Brigands scolded as he stitched. "You are better than her. Go in there and hold your head high."

She swallowed hard. "She looks at me like some beggar. She's pretty and rich and - "

"And wants the man you already have, is a Viscountess whereas you're a Marchioness, is childless while you look prettier than her while even growing an heir," Brigands said lightly.

Tim grinned. "I say she right better run from you, mistress!"

But she didn't smile. "She'll point out to Mark what a terrible match I am so far beneath him."

"My lady, have you lied to the master?"

"No." She frowned.

Brigands glanced up at her. "Then he knows what you say are your shortcomings, and he married you despite them. A man's head turns where his heart is. Go in there, hold your head high and be the kind, high-born lady that I know you were meant to be."

When she returned with the tray, the two of them were laughing as they sat across the coffee table. She set down the tray quickly to hide her shaking hands.

"You really should get a decent maid, Mark."

"Becky is good enough." He waived his hand.

"But I was serious about my proposal."

She poured the tea and gave the woman a cup, repeating Brigands' words over and over in her head for courage.

The Viscountess took it with a look. "Don't tell me you're a devoted bachelor," she pouted prettily.

"No, thank you." He shook his head when she offered him a cup. Then he turned his attention back to the woman and frowned, as if confused that she didn't know. "I'm married."

The Viscountess choked on her tea. "To whom?!"

He held out his hand when she stood there awkwardly. Then he tugged her sit beside him and slipped an arm around her waist. "To this one." Such pride filled his voice that her throat constricted.

"The maid?!"

The man didn't flinch, beyond his jaw muscle twitching. "She wasn't and is not the maid - she's my wife." His tone remained pleasant, with just a hint of steel undertone.

The Viscountess's eyes flew to her belly. Shame reared its head again. "When?! That can't possibly be yours!"

She wanted to run.

His eyes narrowed and grip tightened. "Tanya is my wife, and this is my child." The friendliness vanished from his voice.

"Surely a marriage of convenience. She's nothing at all like your type or our class. Mark, we could combine our lands if we married - "

Blood drained from her face. The proposal - Mark had turned down a _marriage_ proposal. Oh god. This woman had money and title and far more to offer. And right in front of her, the woman tried to convince him to divorce. Humiliation blistered, but his grip kept her from running.

"Jessica, did you come for any other reason than to insult my wife and I?" He said it so pleasantly that even she blinked.

The woman obviously missed the sarcasm. "For marriage - "

"Which is obviously out of the question!" he snapped.

"Is she the one you bought at cards?" The wicked woman smiled evilly.

He stood and took her hand to pull up with him. "Let me be frank. I'm happily married. I thank my lucky stars every day that she isn't of our _classes_ ," he spat, "because she isn't a brat like you." His eyes held such coldness that she almost pitied the woman. "You'll do well to remember that she is of higher station, _Viscountess_. If I were you, I'd watch my tongue." Then he slipped her hand through his arm and turned to leave. "Good day."

She looked up at him in surprise as he took her into his office, so rudely leaving the woman to see herself out. "Mark, you shouldn't have done that. She'll tell people - "

"I don't care," he growled.

The front door slammed. She winced. "Why did you lie?"

He frowned as he sat at his desk and propped his leg up. "Hm?"

"About being happily married."

"I didn't. I'm happier than I was alone."

"Oh." She sat in a chair across from his desk.

"What? You have that wrinkle in your brow like when you're confused."

She flushed, pleased that he noticed enough to realize she got that wrinkle. "I don't understand why you turned down her offer."

"I just said."

"But you wouldn't be alone with her either."

"It's different," he growled.

"Did you have feelings for her?"

He pulled out a paper from his desk drawer and picked up his quill. "The only woman I had feelings for was Anna," he grunted and started writing.

"Did you ever kiss her?"

The man didn't look up. "Yes, but we stopped right before things went too far. It was a stupid mistake made because I was grieving Anna."

Silence. A 'yes' hadn't been expected, much less the allusion to perhaps more almost happening. And she didn't like it one bit. "I'll let you work in peace." She shoved down the hurt. It wasn't her right or place to blame him for something that happened long ago.

"I'm not working." He poured sand over it and then got up. Hobbling over to the hidden safe, he turned the knob and opened the door. The man dug through the stack of papers inside and froze.

She walked over. It was a photograph of a lovely young woman and himself about a decade younger. A wedding photograph. "She was beautiful," she said softly from behind him.

"Ash and bones now," he snapped and threw the photo in the safe and slammed the door. He returned to the desk and held his head in his hands.

"Mark?"

"Go," he said quietly, as if his heart bled all over again.

Instead, she walked over and set a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you have to mourn alone?"

His hands shoved through his hair in anxiety. "Tanya - "

"No, Mark. You've been alone for too long." She gently pushed his shoulder until he turned the chair. Then she sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You aren't allowed to cry over any woman but Anna."

"Why's that?" he growled.

"Because it'll break my heart, my cuddle bear."

He craned his neck to look down at her. "Cuddle bear?" he asked dryly.

She smiled. "I knew you'd like that," she giggled.

"Don't call me that again," he growled like when he actually did like something.

"Oh, I see. It'd ruin your reputation of being a murdering recluse."

He grunted. "Why ruin a good thing?"

She lifted her head to kiss his cheek. "Because you're the sweetest man I've ever met."

He gave her a look.

"Alright, 'sweet' isn't the right word. But you have a heart of gold," she said softly and met his eyes.

No words needed to be spoken. His hand reached up and his fingers tangled in her hair, forcing the pins to clink to the floor. "I wish my ribs weren't sore," he whispered in a rough, husky voice. Then his mouth claimed hers.

It was a kiss of heated passion so strong. The moment his hand slipped up her skirts to stroke her stocking thigh, flames burst free. Then his hand cupped between her legs and she gasped in pleasure. Her head swam and she clung as waves of ecstasy built. His hand gently rocked and she soon found his rhythm as his tongue courted in an intricate dance.

Instinct took over. She wanted something, although she didn't know what beyond pressing his hand harder to her. "Mark," she whimpered.

He broke the kiss and pulled his hand away, leaving her weak and breathless, not far from his own state. "When I'm better."

"What?" she panted.

His eyes were dilated to nearly black orbs and his need pressed against her thigh. "When I'm better, we'll invoke our agreement. I think you're ready for me."

She blinked. And then got up and spun on him. Those probably hadn't been the words he'd said when wooing Jessiva, perhaps in this very room years ago. "How do you take something so beautiful and turn it into some kind of legal agreement?"

"May I remind you that you wanted it as a contract?" He sat back and cocked an eyebrow.

"You're so damn arrogant."

" _I'm_ arrogant? You set yourself in my lap. Talk about an invitation!"

"If you're so anxious, just take what you want," she spat.

"Don't you dare," he hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"Why not? Even in your state you could easily do it," she challenged. Not that he ever would.

He shot up so fast that he almost bumped her nose. Ice cold eyes glared down at her. "Don't you dare even hint that I would do what that swine did to you," he hissed. "I promised you a safehaven - "

"As long as I make it worth your thousand pounds?" She cocked an eyebrow. That'd been uncalled for, but the hurt and humiliation from that woman still burned hot.

"What the hell is under your skin?" he snapped, his eyes crackling with temper. "Get off it. There's something since Jessica showed up - "

Hearing him say that name made her snap. "Why don't you marry her then!"

He leaned a hip against the desk, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. "Ah, a little green monster, Tanya?"

"What?"

"You feel threatened by Jessica."

He said it with such pleasure that she wanted to slap him.

"My dear, if I wanted her, I could've had her long ago."

Her back shot ramrod straight. "I'm sleeping in my own bed - it's getting too crowded with Anna, I and that brat!"

His eyes narrowed in a temper. "You'd like being angry at me for sleeping with her. I didn't! I came to my senses when she pulled my shirt off!"

Her mouth fell open in shock. "Oh, I'm _so_ grateful! Maybe you shouldn't have so you'd be married to her instead!"

"I didn't want to marry her! Anna and I grew up with her. She was angry that I wed Anna, so she married a rich old man, as if to spite me! Turns out the joke is on her because I have myself a new pretty little wife!" he shouted.

"You kissed a married woman?!"

"He was older than her grandfather!" he roared.

"What does that matter?!"

He threw out his hand and snapped, "I don't know! I was a new widower and it made sense!"

"At least she was of your 'taste' and almost class!"

His eyes shot sparks and his cheeks flushed with temper. "Goddammit, I like it when you yell at me!" He jerked her close and his hot tongue swept through her mouth.

Her blood burned as hot as his, her heart thundering with instant passion as she clung to his shoulders.

Without breaking the kiss, he swept everything off the desk to crash on the floor. Then he lifted her up on the desk with a soft grunt of pain from his ribs. His mouth crushed down again, his pants coming as heavy as hers as he pulled her closer.

The pressure between her legs was sheer heaven. He kissed her neck and his teeth lightly grazed, sending shivers of need for something. "Mark, make me yours," she panted and buried her hands in his thick hair as she tilted her head to the side for him.

"Not like this," he panted and cupped her breasts as he nipped her earlobe. "Jesus, I love your breasts." He yanked out the handkerchief and his tongue licked the swells, sweeping right over the scar like he didn't care.

She drew in a sharp breath in surprise and pulled back. He wasn't supposed to like looking, much less touching the deformity. The passion extinguished.

"You're beautiful," he whispered and gave a soft squeeze to her, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he groaned in pleasure.

"I'm not your taste." The massage felt so good, easing the ache.

"And how does anyone know my taste?" His half-hooded eyes met hers. "Tell me this doesn't ease the heaviness in your breasts from the babe," he purred.

He was far too dangerous as a lover. She pulled his hands down into her lap for a serious conversation. "Anna was blonde and full - "

"Anna was Anna, and you are you. I married her for her character, not her looks." His hand slid up her skirt. "Do you ache here too?" he asked in a deep, caramel-smooth baritone.

She caught his arm but stilled for a moment, torn between letting him continue and having this conversation.

"You, I married out of honor. I wasn't nearly as difficult back when Anna was around, but I guarantee that she wouldn't have been able to withstand my tongue for two minutes. I'm a very different man than I was six years ago. Perhaps there's reason why you're not the 'type' like Anna." His fingers brushed the slit in her drawers.

Lifting her chin, she held his gaze and pushed away his hand. "Mark, be serious. Is this what you did with Jessica?"

He scowled. "No! You're my wife! If - " The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "You want to fight today, don't you?" Leaning his hip against the desk to take some of his weight off his knee, he folded his arms over his broad chest.

"I do not!" Maybe a little. "You lug around a big belly and see how it makes you feel!" She slid off the desk onto her feet.

His lips pressed together like he held back a smile. "Jessica is a snob. I have a sharp enough tongue; I don't want a woman with a sharp one too. Could you see the two of us? It would be a civil war. You are logical and calm and do not flinch when I breathe fire. We are quite compatible in many ways. I assure you that your place here isn't in jeopardy."

She dropped into a chair and rubbed her belly. "Now I feel stupid."

He cracked a smile and limped over. "Good. I imagine this is one of the few times when I get to win an argument."

Her cheeks burned and she cracked a smile. "Be nice."

The man leaned his hands down on the chair arms and looked into her eyes, making her heart flutter. "I intend to be very nice in a couple weeks," he rumbled deep in his chest and pressed his lips to hers.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay - had unexpected minor surgery a couple weeks ago that took me down for a bit.**

 **Spoiler alert: If you haven't read Pride and Prejudice but want to, read it before reading this chapter. :)**

* * *

Mark remained silent as she walked on his arm out of a physician's home an hour south. He stopped at the four front steps, needing one hand on the railing and the other on the cane to maneuver down. She stilled, her heart breaking. This was the third surgeon who specialized in bone and joint trauma from the wars - the best in England. And he agreed with all of them that Mark was forever crippled.

He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up. Humiliation clouded his usually vibrant blue eyes. For once, he had no sharp words to hide his heartache.

She held his gaze. "There has to be more than this or a brace that locks your leg straight. You're in pain and not even old enough to have arthritis compounding the pain. We aren't going until he offers some other solution." Folding her hands into her muff, she planted her feet at the top of the steps.

Without a word, he held out his gloved hand.

Tears stung as she shook her head. "I'm not leaving until we figure out how to fix it! Sometimes it gives out on you! What if you're holding the babe and fall, or what if you're on the stairs and you fall! It's getting more unstable as the swelling goes down!"

"I'll wear the brace when holding the babe. Stop having a tantrum and come." But his words held none of their usual vigor, just...defeat.

The tears fell and froze on her cheeks in the gust of winter wind. "No. If you hadn't come for me - "

"You'd be dead." He took a step up, caught her hand and guided her down to take his arm. His eyes on the ground and his voice quiet as he led her to the carriage with his uneven gait. "I wasn't able to protect Anna, but you...I was able to absorb some of the evil from getting to you. Do you mind a crippled husband?" He stopped at the carriage where Brigands held the door. His gaze still remained diverted.

Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his warm cheek. "I think you look a bit devil-may-care - a bit dashing, you know."

His eyes shifted to hers finally, some of the hardship lifting from his eyes as if her opinion greatly mattered. "Then I will be content with my lot."

"Come, my knight. Keep the babe and I safe on the way home." She took his hand and climbed into the carriage. A slight smile tugged when his chest puffed up just a hint like he took pride in the wound he bore because she saw him as more of a man for it.

* * *

A crash and a curse from the washroom. Her heart shot into her throat. Tossing her book aside, she hurried out of bed that evening. Whipping open the washroom door, she stopped in her tracks.

Mark wore only a towel around his waist and struggled to get off the floor from amid the toiletries strewn everywhere.

"Are you alright?" She rushed over and helped him up.

"My goddamn knee gave out when I was getting out of the tub," he snapped and used the edge of the vanity to stand up.

She grabbed a rag and cleaned a long red line on his back where he'd skinned it against the tub lip. He leaned down and picked up some of the items on the floor. "Mark, hold still."

"It's fine, leave it be," he grunted.

"Humor me." But he didn't stop. "Honey, hold still for one minute."

The man slowly straightened and turned his head to look over his shoulder. "What did you call me?" The growl came out low and deep.

She blinked. "Mark?"

"No, you said, 'honey.'" His eyes narrowed.

"Oh. Sorry." Stepping behind him, she released a silent sigh.

"Don't apologize when you've done nothing wrong," he rumbled and held still.

Her hands froze. "I thought you didn't like the name."

"If it should slip out again, then it does," he snapped. "Hurry up before my leg gives out again."

She smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"I can see your face in the mirror," he barked. "Don't smile."

Glancing up, she met his eyes, the smile not fading. "No, Mark." Then she resumed attending to his back. A squeak of surprise popped out as he whirled around and pressed her up against the wall.

"Don't sass me, woman." His mouth crushed down on hers and his hands cupped her breasts.

A soft moan was her answer. When he lifted his head and his hands dropped to cradle her belly in the way, she looked up from beneath her lashes and grinned. "If I'm sassy again, will you punish me?"

His eyebrows slowly rose in surprise. "Get in bed!" He barked the words but a smile softened his expression. Then he spun her by her arm to go and gave a sound swat to her bottom.

She giggled and whipped around, taking a step backwards. "Yes, Mark. Shall I strip too?" He was entirely too much fun to tease out of a bad mood.

A low growl of frustration vibrated in his throat and he leaned his hands on the door frame. An arrogant smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Yes."

She froze and her eyes widened. The only times he'd requested sleeping like that had been the night before and after he'd been in prison.

"Get in bed," he chuckled.

"Wretch!" She grabbed a pillow and turned to throw it at him.

He winked and disappeared back into the washroom.

Her heart fluttered and her arms wrapped around the pillow. A man who looked like him shouldn't be allowed to wink.

* * *

The next morning, chills ran up her spine. Mark must've scooted away during the night. She rolled over but encountered cool sheets. With a frown, she opened her eyes.

He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, his eyes focused with regret on the cane to the right.

She sat up and rested her cheek on his warm bare back. "I think you're handsome just the same. It'll take some time to adjust, but I'm here to help figure it out." Her arm wrapped around his lean stomach. Silence. "Do you know what I think? God decided that you're just too beautiful and needed to make you a bit more human. He said, 'I know, I'll give him an injury and a woman to fret over him for it for the rest of his life."

A deep sigh heaved his sides and he laid a hand over her arm on his stomach. "It's just hard that the simplest things like getting out of bed are now a challenge," he whispered.

Her heart broke. Slipping around into his lap, she looked up at him through tears that burned. "I'll never be able to explain what your sacrifice means. No one has ever protected me like that..." Her voice cracked.

His arms wrapped around and he pressed a kiss to her hair. "You're worth more than a knee, Tanya," he whispered. "No tears."

She didn't say anything when he needed help getting his pants on because his knee wouldn't bend or when he caught himself at the last minute when his knee gave out as he got up from the breakfast table. He'd grown quieter since the swelling had gone down a week ago and he struggled more to get around.

As he limped out of the dining room, she took her last bite of food and got up to follow him. "Mark?" She slipped her arm through his in the foyer. "Do you have more university books?"

"I have a meeting in a few minutes in the study." He frowned and glanced at her. "Don't tell me you've read all of the books?"

A smile bloomed. "I did."

"That's all I had for mathematics and such subjects. Does the literature in the library not interest you?"

"Oh." The smile faded and she shrugged. "Not having finished school, I wanted to learn before reading novels. And..." Her cheeks burned.

"And?" He cocked an eyebrow as he led her into his office.

"And I'm not so fond of Shakespeare. There's this one book I read just a few pages of years ago - _Pride and Prejudice._ I saw a copy of it on your library shelf too high for me to reach - "

He scowled. "Yes, said to be written by a woman. Such passionate language is not appropriate for a wife to read."

She cracked a smile. "But it is for a husband? Just how passionate is it?"

The man sat at his desk and gave a dark look. "It gives illusions of some grandeur romance that is not at all realistic. There is talk of a scandalous marriage of the younger sister eloping...it is not appropriate. If you desire more literature, you shall be content with Charles Dickens or Shakespeare. If that does not suit you, you shall have my medical books from university," he huffed.

Her smile bloomed. "How odd you are, husband." She stepped behind him and massaged his tense shoulders. "Society says women should be accomplished and not educated, yet you toss textbooks at me. I have no fantasy that you could ever be romantic, yet you deny me reading passionate books. Am I prone to theatrics or delicate sensibilities?"

He snorted.

"Then you're just being ignorant."

He twisted in his chair, his mouth hanging open in shock. "I won't have my wife reading such nonsense!"

"Fine. I won't read it if you give me some of your work to do so I'm not bored."

His eyebrows snapped together. "This is not a negotiation," he barked.

"Good because you wouldn't win anyways, honey." She glanced up at Brigands in the doorway. "Your appointment is here. Since you didn't have time to give me some work, I'll go read." She pecked a kiss on his forehead.

He grumbled under his breath. "Brigands will fetch the book - don't you try climbing the ladder."

In the doorway, she turned and smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"Brat. You knew you'd get your way," he snapped, but his eyes held a smile.

She laughed and rested her hands on her belly. "Yes, Mark, because you don't deny me pleasures."

"Go before I change my mind, wench. Not that you'd listen anyways," he growled and opened his ledgers.

* * *

He entered the library before lunch and sat on the settee beside her, taking her feet into his lap.

She smiled at the homey scene and closed the book. "Did your meeting go well?"

"As can be expected for a bank meeting. Are you enjoying the book?"

Pursing her lips, she frowned down at it in her lap before meeting his eyes. "Yes...but I think Mr. Darcy is misunderstood."

The corner of his mouth tugged up. "How so?"

"He's painted as an arrogant rich man, but I think he's actually just very private and quiet. If he did break off his friend's engagement, he probably thought he had good reason to do so."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You are singular in your opinion of him then. When Anna and her friends read it, they despised Mr. Darcy."

Her mouth fell open and she swatted his arm. "You _were_ going to let me read it all along!"

A chuckle softened the lines of his face. "I would not deny you reading anything. Sometimes I simply wish to see you fiery. So you have a soft spot for Mr. Darcy?" He massaged her feet through the stockings.

"He reminds me of you."

His hands stilled for a split instant, his eyes not flickering from her feet. His posture tensed the slightest bit.

"I think Mr. Darcy is misunderstood and a generous heart lies beneath."

He set aside her feet and pushed himself up with the cane. "As I said, foolish romantic notions." All form of banter vanished from him. Then he walked out.

* * *

That evening at dinner, the chit tried to engage in conversation. The ache for Anna had come back sitting with her in the library, talking about the book. Anna had come to love Mr. Darcy. Tanya was different - she saw Mr. Darcy for what he was right away. Just as she had seen through the rumors about himself.

"Mark? Did I upset you? You've been avoiding me all day."

He swallowed hard and cut up dinner more than necessary just to have something to focus his attention on other than her. It was time to finally bury Anna...and put to rest fear of not being able to please Tanya as a cripple. "The longer we wait to consummate the marriage, the more nervous you'll be," he grunted.

She blinked. "But, is it safe?" Her hand laid on her six-month swollen belly.

"The preganancy is sound, so yes."

Her eyes trailed down to the babe. "How...?"

With a leg that refused to work, how indeed. Dropping his fork, he pushed himself up and grabbed the goddamn cane leaning against the table. "Tomorrow night," he growled and limped to the door. That should be enough time for him to be ready to face the humiliation and for her to work up the courage for a bedding. It'd only be a matter of time before she saw the newspapers labeling him the 'drunk murderer' now due to his leg giving out at the worst times.

Getting a bag of ice, he held the railing and cane and made the painful journey up the staircase. He laid in bed with his leg propped up and iced. Nine o'clock came and went without any sign of her. Then ten. Then eleven. The house remained silent. By midnight, the hope of having her warm softness to chase away the nightmares of his tortures to Anna faded. He turned off the lantern and laid down in the cold bed. She'd probably been frightened about the prospect of consummation with a fucked up cripple and had run to the safety of her own room. God knows why she hadn't walked out - left him to rot alone in this hell hole like he deserved.

Her goddamn wonderful scent wafted up from her pillow. The clock in the hall struck one. His eyes burned and throat grew tight. From the beginning, he'd been waiting for the day to come when she'd want to live apart. But love wasn't supposed to be part of the equation - she wasn't supposed to get close enough for it to hurt. He wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. Swallowing hard, he pulled her pillow down to rest on his hip and laid a hand over it, like with the babe. A hot tear burned its way down from the corner of his eye.

* * *

Brigands came in late the next morning. 'My lord, are you ill?"

He pulled the sheets over his pounding head. Not nightmares of Anna wasting away in his arms had kept him awake all night, but night terrors of Tanya walking out the door without a glance back as he screamed for her to stop. "Go away."

"Sir? The morning is half over."

A bitter snort erupted. "So she sent you to see if I'm dead?"

"No, my lord." The man sounded confused.

Flinging back the covers, he pushed himself up to a sit. "Go see to your mistress," he snapped and grabbed the goddamn cane.

"But she's - "

"Go!" As soon as Brigands left, he pulled himself to his feet and took a step to the washroom. And collapsed to the floor the moment his knee buckled. Pushing himself back to sit against the bed, he stared at the horrible knee brace contraption in the corner. Three surgeons had agreed that godawful thing was the only other option. One had even said that one day the pain would become so crippling that an amputation at the knee would be necessary. But cowardness prevented him from telling Tanya about that detail. If she had any sense, she'd be gone before sundown.

She avoided him all day. In the afternoon when he caught a glimpse of her in the foyer, she hurried away. She must've seen the hideous metal brace on the outside of his pantaloons and run. Even with the goddamn brace he needed the cane.

The woman showed up to dinner. She slipped into her chair before he had a chance to stand. "Forgive me, I'm a few minutes tardy." Her eyes followed her hands laying the napkin across her lap. She looked anywhere but at him. The woman looked more beautiful than yesterday even though she wore a simpler blue dress and her hair flowed over one shoulder, begging to be touched.

"You've been avoiding me all day - why break the tradition?" he snapped.

Her face reddened. "I'm not sure what to think of tonight."

He picked up a napkin and snapped it open. "There's nothing to think about tonight - you'll sleep in your room again and I'll sleep in mine. You won't have to fear me pawing at you," he barked. It would be pawing because bedding a woman would be goddamn impossible with the pain. The humiliation stung raw and hot.

"I fell asleep in the library reading _Pride and Prejudice_. You don't want me sleeping in your bed anymore?"

He stilled and looked at her. "You fell asleep?"

She nodded. "I woke up when Brigands tried to lay a blanket on me this morning."

So she hadn't been avoiding him. Relief washed through, making the goddamn hours of sleeplessness and sadness not matter. Gentleman's manners dictated that he should've checked to make sure she was settled in bed for the night, though. He cleared his throat and picked up the fork. "You're to sleep in my chambers. The next time you don't come to goddamn bed, I'm coming to drag you in," he growled.

She cracked a smile and picked up her cup. "Missed me bad, huh?" The chit took a sip, not seeming to mind his dark glare. Then she set the cup down and her smile faded. "You shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, Mark. You have a terrible habit of it and don't even go to Confession."

"Then go pray for my damned soul," he snapped and picked up his cup. "Not as if I'm not burning in Hell anyways," he mumbled in his glass.

The chit stood and slipped her delicate arms around his neck, leaning her cheek against the back of his head. "Do you think He blames you for Anna? M - "

He snorted a bitter laugh and set down the cup. "She didn't die by natural means," he growled, his hand fisting around the glass. "Sit down and feed that babe." The words ground out between his teeth.

Instead, she stepped to the side, lifted his arm and let herself slide over the armrest into his lap. Then she set his hand on her belly and looked up at him, the purity and innocence of her like water for a thirsting man. "You tried to save her. You're not damned." She laid her head on his chest and something inside twisted. "You're my cuddle bear who growls and snaps but in the end keeps me safe."

"Unless if you get cancer, then I'll chop up and poison you to death." The words spat with disgust. She deserved to know the heinous things he was capable of. "I took her to a surgeon who cut off her breasts. When her belly swelled with cancer, I was ready to cut her open - "

She sat up and set her fingers to his lips. "I know," she whispered and searched his eyes. "You were trying to save her. I also know that the moment she told you she didn't want more treatment, you stopped. You tried to find a cure for her. Because you tried the impossible doesn't make you a monster. To have a man's love that strong that he'd risk everything to save the woman he loves...that he'd look at her no differently without breasts...that's blessed."

Anger surged. "That's a monster," he hissed, his hands clutching the armrests so hard that the wood creaked.

But she didn't flinch under the icy glare. "He took part of my breast with his knife and you've never made me feel less beautiful for it. You've taken what others see as fallen and taught me I'm worthy of demanding respect. You're taking a bastard and calling him your own. How is that a monster?"

The air knocked out of his chest. Such basic human decency and she cherished these things like gold. An angel who loved the devil.

She cupped his cheek, her hand shaking. "I didn't avoid you last night, and today I've been nervous. All I know is a union to be pain and blood and screaming. With any other man, I'd be in tears." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I know you won't hurt me, but I wish you hadn't warned me."

Thoughts of everything but making her feel safe fled. Taking her hand from his cheek, he held tight and met her eyes. "Not tonight. If you're this frightened, it's too soon."

"I'll always be this frightened."

In the heat of passion, she never feared. Letting passion lead into consummation would be easier for her. "When the time is right, you won't be afraid."

So she laid her head on his chest and whispered in a timid voice, "Hold me."

How utterly ironic that he of all people could make her feel safe. He wrapped his arms around this small chit who had become the center of his world. "You're safe." The babe moved under his arm, so he laid a hand on her belly. "You're both safe here. I won't let anything happen."

Her arms curled up tight against her chest and her hands tucked under her chin, her trembles gradually calming. It was the first time she'd shown true fear after the assault. The union would be more traumatic for her than expected. He was the last one capable of showing her the tenderness she'd need to face it. If he ever came across that filth of a man again, may God have mercy on his soul.

The woman picked at her food and remained withdrawn during the rest of dinner, so unlike his vivacious Tanya. He cleared his throat, having no idea how to console a frightened woman who didn't weep and cling. "After you eat, we'll go to the library and read to the babe."

Big brown eyes flew up and a smile brought her face to life. "Read to him? Do you think he can hear you?"

"How else is he to learn his father's voice?" he grunted and took another bite. She looked at him with goddamn moon eyes. "Eat and don't look at me like that, woman."

When she finished and he got up with his cane to aid her, she pushed back her chair and then stared at the knee brace. Her eyes bounced up to his. "Does it help?"

"If locking it straight and adding a great deal of weight is supposed to help, then yes," he barked. The humiliation rose.

"Then why keep it on?" She frowned in confusion and took his hand to stand.

To strengthen the muscles so he could wear it in public and not embarrass her by falling every step, perpetuating his drunken murderer title that would humiliate her. "You ask too many questions and pain my head, woman." He slipped her arm through his all the same and leaned on the cane as aid. Even the simple task of walking proved to be a trial, and the brace locking his leg made it even more so. Learning how to not look like an idiot trying to maneuver in it didn't need to happen in front of her. "Go to the library and select a book," he ordered.

"I'll walk with you. There's no rush." She offered an encouraging smile. "I like that you're brave enough to let me help."

Christ, she wasn't supposed to say that. She wasn't supposed to be the encouragement he desperately needed. "You enjoy my humiliation," he snapped.

"I enjoy that you trust me enough to let me be here so we can learn together. Slide your leg forward instead of swinging out your hip. You'll get sore fast doing that." She let go to stand a few steps ahead and watch. Then she frowned. "Your brace looks crooked." The chit came over and knelt, doing something to the alignment. Then she looked up with a smile and held out a hand. "The babe's too big for me to get up on my own anymore."

He braced to support her weight and tugged her hand. Then he took a step. And stumbled as his knee tried to give out but the brace prevented it. The cane and her hand stopped him from sprawling face first on the floor. He straightened and stared at the floor, afraid of another step - afraid of embarrassing her, afraid of her not feeling protected anymore, afraid of seeing her pity. Women's stations relied so much on their husbands'. She had grounds to file a divorce having a cripple, as well as a man unable to consummate the marriage. The babe would be spurned by Society for such a father with his reputation and now his disability. There was no life for a woman and child here. After the amputation in however many goddamn years, he'd be bound to a damn wheelchair or bed like some cripple. "You need to go," he croaked.

"We're almost to the library - "

"No, you need to leave before I ruin you." The words choked out.

She stepped in front and set her hands on his shoulders, meeting his downcast eyes. "I should say I was thoroughly ruined before we met." She cracked a smile. "You've had a hard week with your leg beginning to give out. Come read us a bedtime story and do not be so melodramatic, husband."

He planted his feet, suddenly as frightened as he'd been as the five-year-old boy the night he'd gotten lost in the woods. "And when they cut it off and you're left with a wheelchair-bound or bedridden husband, will you stay?" he demanded.

The woman spun around with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Eventually the pain will be unbearable and the surgeon said they'll amputate. My weight is too much for a peg leg, causing an ulcer and eventually gangrene."

She didn't miss a beat. "For God sakes, we figure something out! We experiment with puddings of various materials and thicknesses until we come up with something that works for a fake leg! You fought to reinvent science for Anna, why the hell are you giving up on this? I'm taking that damn brace to the blacksmith and figuring out how to put some kind of clock gear or something on it so you can bend your leg! I am _not_ Anna!" She spat the words, her eyes shooting sparks. "I'm not going to run because things get hard! Sometimes I hate her for teaching you that!" The woman took his hand and tugged him along.

Just like that, she decided she was in this for life, for the good or bad. There had never been that kind of security with Anna. It was new and foreign and...and so safe. He could take what life would offer because she would stand by him through it.

"I - " Her feet slammed to a halt and she dropped his hand, pressing down on her belly. She gasped in a breath.

"What? What's wrong?" He dropped the cane and limped forward, setting his hands on her belly.

"The babe turned and I couldn't breathe for a moment." Her face relaxed and she dropped her hands.

He swallowed his heart back into his chest.

"Now you did it." She crossed her arms and smiled. He must've had a blank look because she said, "Neither one of us can exactly bend over to pick up the cane." Then she took his hand and knelt. "You can get me up easier than I can you."

"If I don't fall on you," he muttered and pulled her up.

She belly laughed, making the stress dissipate. "That likely was one of the most awkward sights in history."

He chuckled. "I'm sure there've been worse than a cripple helping a pregnant woman pick up a cane."

Her smile dropped to a glare. "You are no such thing. Do not say it again," she snapped and handed over his cane.

"I couldn't even do Brigands' job anymore, who is more than twice my age! Practically any other job but the desk job I have would mean I couldn't work! That's why cripples are beggars on the street! Goddamn open your eyes - you're wed to a cripple!" he snarled, the anger and shame finally unleashing.

Those brown eyes crackled with anger. "You wanted to consummate tonight because you're afraid you can't anymore or you think I won't see you as a man anymore! You're an idiot!"

Brigands walked into the foyer and turned right around.

" _I'm_ an idiot?!" He thrust a finger at his chest. "You have so many goddamn reasons you could divorce me! If one didn't hold up to the King, any of the other ten would!"

"You could just as well divorce me for a multitude of reasons!" Fire burned in her eyes and her cheeks glowed red with temper. "I guess I'm as much of an idiot as you, and a pair of idiots belong together! I'm not divorcing you, so I don't want to hear another damn word about it! Understood?!"

He stared, speechless for a moment. Then his brow snapped together. "You're ordering me to not divorce you?!"

"Yes!" She raised her chin to a haughty angle.

"I'm master of this house, and you do not tell me what I'm to do!"

"I will when you're being a bullheaded ass!" Then she stormed to the library.

His temper shot through the roof and he marched after her with his cane. Slamming the library door shut, he stepped in front of her. "Watch your tongue, woman!"

"Watch yours! You're not a cripple and I'm not leaving you! Maybe that 'master' card worked with Anna, but I'm capable of just as much intelligence as you and shouldering hardship just as much as you! I will not be the meek wife in the corner who looks away when I see you suffer! You will stop being worried that I don't think you're the most wonderful man in the world anymore! If I could bear this injury for you, I would!"

Silence. He stared, the wind knocked out of his chest. Anna had been meek and obedient and needing the rescuing - she never bore any hardship for him, much less would've bore a wound. Tanya, no doubt, would do it all in a heartbeat. This little minx had more fire in her than anyone he'd ever met. That kind of love and loyalty he no longer deserved. His finger thrust at the floor and he forced his voice to not quiver. "You will remember your place in this house - "

"Mark!"

He blinked at the interruption.

"Shut up." Then she pushed him back against the door and crushed her lips to his.

The cane clattered to the floor and he pulled her as close as possible with her belly in the way, drinking in every drop of this woman that he needed like air. "Do not sass me," he panted with no truth behind the words.

"Yes, Mark," she panted and unbuttoned his shirt, her small hands so soft and wonderful against his chest. She nipped his bottom lip.

Heat rushed between his legs, making him gasp at the sudden need.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided under her skirts. "Show me what you'll do, how it won't hurt." Her hot tongue swept into his mouth. "You don't need a damn knee to please me."

His hips bucked out of instinct, never having known passion like this. It was almost too much. His hand slid up higher and showed her what to expect as he caught her cries of pleasure in his mouth.

She trembled in his arms minutes later, clinging to him to stay upright and panting as hard as him. Dear god, it'd been hard to control himself from showing her what true lovemaking was.

"Mark? My belly aches."

He set a hand on the babe. Light, sporadic contractions hardened and softened her belly. "That's normal after being intimate. It will calm in a few minutes." Leaning a hand on a table, he leaned down and picked up the cane. Then he guided her to rest on the settee. Sitting beside her, he rubbed the babe to ease the contractions. "Did that pain you?"

She shook her head, her cheeks red. "It, um, I think you might be painful to take."

With a nod, he set his hand over hers. "I felt it too that you were at your limit with the scarring."

Her eyes fell to her belly. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever are you sorry for?" He tilted her chin up, and his heart twisted to see tears shimmering in her eyes.

"That I can't..." Her lip quivered. "I don't want you to find companionship elsewhere."

"No, Tanya." He dug out his handkerchief and brushed away her tears. "I never intended to find it elsewhere. That agreement was for you. It's possible that with time and patience, your body may eventually accommodate. If not, there are other ways to please each other like we just did."

"Will you have to cut out the babe?"

He stroked her hair. "We will do everything we can to avoid that."

"So it will be like Brigands' wife healing? She didn't seem too painful." She must've caught the split moment of hesitation in his eye. "Worse?"

"You don't need to be worried about childbirth - "

"Tell me."

With a sigh, he met her frightened eyes. "You would have a bit more discomfort because a cut would be made into your womb whereas hers was removed. I would ensure the surgeon made the smallest possible incisions, and we'd give you medication afterwards for any discomfort."

"You wouldn't do it?"

"I don't have a license, Tanya."

"But you would be more careful and make sure the babe's alright. What if something went wrong? They think your ways are backwards, but you save those that they cannot - "

He took her hands and held her gaze. "If it came down to life or death, I would step in regardless of what the surgeon says. I'm not going to let anything happen to you or the babe."

"It hurt so much what he did. How much worse will it be trying to fit a babe?" She sniffled and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, sweetheart, I have witnessed dozens of births. I think the fear in your head is worse than reality. You must trust me in this." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

He read the final pages of _Pride and Prejudice_ to her and the babe as she laid her head in his lap. Reading the final line, he set down the book and looked down at her.

"I was right about Mr. Darcy." She smiled, her eyes glittering with that spirit once again.

"Indeed." His fingers stroked her smooth brow. "You are just as bullheaded as the heroine. You've ruined me for anyone else, you know."

Her eyebrows rose. "I didn't know you had a penchant for marrying anyone else." She cracked a smile. "If I shall perish, you'll remain a grieving bachelor for the rest of your days?"

"You shall do no such thing. I would rot away without your fire keeping me on my toes, and it's said the ornery live forever. Therefore, you shall simply have to live forever with me."

She smiled and sat up, leaning a hand on his thigh to be face to face. "And what is it that you shall have me do forever to keep my husband ornery?" A soft kiss pecked on his lips.

"You shall irk me every day with your teasing. Then you shall challenge one thing I say a day - "

Her head fell back in a hearty laugh and then she looked at him, her grin as warm as the sun. "Because you like it when I yell at you."

He grunted in agreement and pecked a kiss on her lips. "Then you shall be saucy during dinner so that I shall have to take you upstairs afterwards to punish you."

She giggled, the magical sound warming his heart. "It does indeed sound like I shall keep you ornery for years. Will you bark at me every day?"

"Most definitely."

The tip of her nose rubbed against his. "And perhaps need to swat my bottom now and then?"

He grinned. "Of course. On rare occasion, I may be a scandalous rogue and take you to our chamber during daylight." The instant the words were said, regret came. That was too bold, too unconventional. Anna had been appalled the one time he'd taken her into the bedroom after lunch.

She looked at him beneath her lashes. "You are a wicked man. Will you teach me tomorrow what this scandalous rogue shall do with me?" A shy smile blossomed on her lips.

His eyes rolled back for a moment as heat rushed.

"Does it hurt you? You look so swollen."

His eyes flew open and he followed her gaze to where his pantaloons strained. A smile tugged. "No, it doesn't pain me."

Her finger gave a soft stroke in curiosity.

A sharp breath and he closed his eyes. She'd be the death of him, Hallelujah.

* * *

"No clothes. I won't bed you, but no clothes."

She spun around in his chambers in surprise, her nightgown in hand minutes later to change in the washroom. His eyes still dilated to black, the hungry look sending her heart fluttering. Setting her nightgown on the bed, she turned to go strip in the washroom.

"Here."

Her toes curled in self-consciousness. "I look different than the last time you saw. More unattractive."

"Such a thing is impossible." His voice rumbled husky and deep in his chest. "I have seen stretch marks and things that happen during pregnancy. Nothing will shock me, and nothing will make you look less beautiful. Let me see my wife."

He never asked for anything. So she slipped off the dress that barely fit anymore and diverted her eyes as she cupped her belly through the chemise so he would see just how big the babe had grown. "I'm big and - "

"And growing a strong heir." He limped around the bed and pulled off the remaining clothes. "You look as a woman with child should." His hands swept around her belly that stuck out almost to a point the past couple days. "What is it that you're ashamed of?" He spoke with such quiet patience.

She set a hand on her belly. "At the market with the sheriff, there was another woman there with child. She looked as big as me but said she was going under house confinement the next day. She said I'm too big to be six months."

He sighed and palpated. "The babe turned, making your belly stick out more because of it, for one. Your belly will change shape as the babe moves and grows. For another, you are not too big. I don't understand why women must comment on each other's sizes. Part of what controls how big your belly appears is how toned your abdominal muscles are. You were starving to death, so your body began eating your muscles. You don't have the muscle strength with this pregnancy for the baby to be held up and tight to your body." He nudged the babe, who kicked and turned, making her belly look round again.

"So I look like women who are about to birth?"

His eyes narrowed. "You look healthy. Why is your weight and size a repeat concern each month?"

"I found one of Anna's dresses. Her waist was smaller than mine and she was taller." She bit her lip and looked up at him. "Is that why you wouldn't touch me for so long? Because I'm not pretty like she was? I know I'm too dark and too curve-less and too short for what the English consider pretty..."

He scowled. "You are beautiful, and I like that you are different than Anna. I will never favor you or Anna over each other."

Pressing her lips together, she gave a sad smile as tears shimmered in her eyes. "Except she will always be the one you love. There's something she has that will forever leave me wanting in your eyes." Picking up her nightgown, she pulled it on and wrapped her arms around herself to keep her heart from shattering. Today had been so much comparison against Anna. There was only so much her heart could stand. "I think I shall sleep in my chambers," she whispered and walked to the door.

"Tanya."

She turned and forced a brave smile. "I know. You told me in the beginning that you would always love her, and I never expected that to change. It's just harder than I expected to fight and laugh and play with you and be touched like a lover but to never quite measure up. I'm used to never being good enough." A tear rolled down her cheek, and his face crumpled with guilt. "I don't blame you. I just need tonight." Then she slipped out the door into the darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I love when readers write long reviews - I use them as learning experiences. :)**

* * *

Brigands served her breakfast alone the next morning.

"He's not coming, is he?" She picked up her spoon, keeping her eyes downcast to hide the hurt.

"No, my lady. He took his meal in his study and seems to be in a foul mood." He set a hand on her shoulder in a fatherly way for a moment. When she didn't say anything, he said, "Marriage has its storms, but they eventually pass, my lady." Then he left.

After breakfast, she went to the library and sat with a book. Heartache made the words exchanged last night play over and over.

Brigands walked in. "Lunch is served, my lady."

She blinked. The book still laid her in lap unopened. Apparently hours had passed. Taking the hand that Brigands held out to help her up, she cracked a sad smile when he offered his arm to escort. "He's not coming again, is he?"

A gentle smile in his weathered face offered compassion. "It has been too long since you've dined with us. Would you do us the honor?"

With a nod, she took his arm. "I'm not too proud to take a pity offer today," she whispered and swallowed back the tears.

"Mistress, if I may be bold enough to say, he seems as miserable as you. Should you go to him, he might talk."

She heaved a sigh from the depths of her soul. "I should think he'd bite my head off and kick me out." Tugging his arm to stop him at the doorway in the privacy of the library, she met his eyes. "I need a friend right now." Tears blurred everything.

"My lady, I am always here if you need to talk. What is troubling you?" He offered a handkerchief.

"Thank you." She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. "I love him, and he's never misled me but made it clear many times that he'll never love me because he loves Anna. I thought I could do this and it wouldn't hurt, but it does. So much. I don't know how...I don't even know what I'm trying to ask."

He took her hand and patted it. "But do you not see?"

"See what?" Her voice cracked from more tears threatening.

"He has loved you for a long time. When he came home and found you were kidnapped, he panicked. Not the panic of a nuisance in danger but the panic of something precious that could be harmed. In prison, did you not see him light up the moment he saw you? Or how he smiles again after not smiling for years? Perhaps he feels guilty to admit it even to himself yet - he took the wedding vows to Mistress Anna very seriously. But, he's seemed to forgotten the 'until death do us part.' He believes he must be faithful to Mistress Anna, God rest her soul. But I think he is also realizing that he made the same vows to a wife who is very much alive. It conflicts him as a man who is very loyal."

"Brigands, he no more loves me than he does a chair. He would miss the chair for a few hours should it disappear, but he would most readily forget about it after a few days."

"With all due respect, mistress, I must disagree. I wish you could've known Mistress Anna. You're very much alike but also very, very different. You..." he looked away for a moment, as if searching for the precise words, "have a strength that cannot be shaken. Mistress Anna was not a strong woman by any means. I see the Marquess sometimes have no idea how to react to that strength because it is very foreign to him. I saw the burden on him when things would get hard and he'd have to handle it all on his own. In the hard times, a man is grateful to have a strong woman standing beside him. He struggles with his leg right now, and I see him push you away at times because..." he released a sigh like he regretted his next words, "she would've loved him still, but not in the same way. He would've fallen in her eyes. I'm not saying it's right, but he is waiting for you to see him as less too."

"But that's what I mean - I will always be in her shadow, Brigands." A heartbroken smile touched her lips. "Sometimes for no other reason than because I wasn't the one he loved first. He provides for the babe and I and doesn't beat me, which is more than what most wives have. He offers conversation and a small degree of companionship, for which is not common in arranged marriages."

"He does love you."

Squaring her shoulders, she sniffled back tears and returned the handkerchief. "Brigands, I think we both know that will never happen. I'm being ungrateful. I'm blessed to have a man who was willing to marry a woman stationed so far beneath him, much less fallen from Society. Come, lunch is waiting." She took a step.

He caught her arm, his eyes red with unshed tears. "Mistress."

She shook her head and forced a smile. "The babe and I would be dead. He saved us from starvation. He gives us food, clothes, shelter and luxuries. He's good to us. I have no right to complain of not being loved. It was an ungrateful moment of self-pity. Please forget that I said anything." Unable to keep her voice steady for another moment, she turned the corner. And almost ran into Mark's chest.

He stood there, searching her face without any expression.

Her cheeks burned hot. He surely heard her complaints. Her eyes dropped to his chest. She had made him a promise and refused to guilt him into saying words that he'd never mean. "I assume you heard." She stared at his chest for courage. "I had a lapse in tongue. I won't speak such nonsense again, my lord," she whispered and then darted around him before the tears fell.

Never had it occurred that it would be a painful sacrifice to love a man who would never love in return.

* * *

Lunch offered enough distraction to forget about the heartache for a bit. She stepped out of the kitchen when someone knocked at the front door. As she reached for the knob, Mark limped out of the study. She opened the door to a man about Mark's age who smiled.

"So it is true. My, he's outdone himself this time." The man removed his top hat.

"John," Mark said from behind her, his voice light. "Come in."

She looked over her shoulder at Mark and stepped aside. It must be a business meeting.

"Tanya, this is an old childhood friend, Counselor John Manchester. John, my wife Tanya." He shut the door and then set his arm around her waist like he was proud to introduce her.

Tom took her hand and bowed. "A pleasure. I only have a moment, Mark, but I came across something. I didn't believe the papers that you wed, so I had to come see myself. Whatever possessed you?" The man chuckled. "She's quite lovely."

"Really, John," Mark sighed.

The men seemed to be having some inside joke. "Mr. Manchester, may I offer you refreshments?" She asked just as Brigands hurried out and offered to take the man's hat and cloak.

"No, ma'm, er, my lady." He burst into giggles that would seem absurd from any other man. "You're keeping old Mark in line, I trust?"

She gave a polite smile but glanced up at Mark, not sure what to make of the lawyer's odd behavior.

Mark's hand rubbed her hip. "Yes, I remarried. Get on with your business, John." He sounded exasperated.

"I must say, this is not at all like you to buy a woman and child. She is a looker, though." He gave a cheerful wink to her that took away the sting of his words.

Mark, however, bristled. "She was not bought, for Christ's sake. And you can leave if you're going to gawk at her. Did you have any purpose to your call?" He barked the words in a way that would've offended anyone. Except John.

"I do! I'm here to..." He dug in his pockets. "By golly, where are they? Ah!" He pulled out some papers. "I'm here to say that I found records of your wife being sold about two months before your marriage. Such papers for the county pass through my desk."

Her heart stopped. She grabbed Mark's sleeve when her knees threatened to buckle. Somehow this stunt from Papa didn't come as a surprise.

"What?!" Mark sounded like he might kill Mr. Manchester. His grip on her tightened as he and Brigands eased her onto the bench near the door. Then he ripped the papers out of the man's hand and skimmed them. Brigands patted her shoulder and then returned to the kitchen to give them privacy.

"There's no harm done really. The man didn't come to claim her before you married, so you can keep her."

He threw the papers back at John, who caught them. "She's not a damn horse! Since when the fuck is it legal to sell a woman?!"

The man held up a finger. "Because this agreement was made prior to your marriage, there was a breech. I talked to the man, and he's willing to not take the matter to the King if he's reimbursed his...losses."

"Goddamn sale, you mean." He braced his legs so he was able to cross his arms over his chest while holding the cane. "Her father sold her to another man the night that I agreed to marry her. I paid him off. Now there's this one. I'm not paying anyone. She's my wife by law and I'm not _paying_ anyone so I can keep her. If he wants to take it to the King, be my guest. You can tell them that I didn't show up because they can kiss my ass!"

Mr. Manchester cleared his throat and mumbled, "I don't think you can tell the King to kiss your ass."

Mark slammed the end if his cane down in a temper. "Last I checked, selling a woman is illegal!"

"Yes, but - "

"I don't fucking care!"

"Actually, you should." He ran a hand through his hair, serious for the first time since arriving. "May you and I speak privately?"

"No! It's about her, so she can hear it!" Mark's eyes could've shot arrows at the man.

"Take a look again." He handed Mark the papers and pointed to something on the page.

Mark's face drained sheet white.

"But we can fix it."

He looked at her. "Stay out here so the babe doesn't upset." He limped to the study with the lawyer.

"Why do you have a knee brace?" Mr. Manchester asked.

"Shut up. I hate the messenger right now," Mark growled.

The man just chuckled and patted Mark's back as he shut the study doors.

Mark's voice filtered through the door angry a few times but the words too mumbled to comprehend. The men finally came out a bit later.

"I'll send you a copy of the signed papers." Mr. Manchester took her hand again and bowed over it where she sat. "Marchioness, a pleasure. Do not fret. You shall keep your home here and husband."

Mark heaved a sigh. "Really? Is that necessary, John? There's nothing for you to be concerned about, Tanya."

He turned and shook Mark's hand. "I should enjoy to come by and get to know your lady love." He gave her a wink. "Takes a unique one to put up with his sharp tongue. Good luck to you. Call me if he needs a beating to keep him in line."

Mark rolled his eyes. "I recall you being the one with black eyes. Goodbye," he said pointedly.

The man frowned. "You never did take well to disagreements."

"You never knew when to shut your mouth up. Being a lawyer suits you. Now get out - my house isn't a courtroom."

"Then perhaps your handsome wife would accept my calls." He gave a wink, letting her know he was goading Mark. "I daresay your nose is in ledgers all day, leaving this lovely dove lonesome. Do you prefer roses or tulips, my lady?"

"Get out." He pushed the man toward the door.

"Take my calling card!" The man tossed it her way as he was shoved out. "I shall count the days, my lady!"

Mark snatched the card off the ground, balancing on one leg well in his temper, and threw it out the door. Then he slammed the door shut.

She covered her mouth to stifle the laugh. The man knew how to get Mark riled up.

A tap on the window to the right. Mr. Manchester grinned, but his expression turned to one of a lovestruck man as soon as Mark stomped over. The man laid a hand over his heart. "I shall write poses of your beauty every day!"

Mark flipped a finger at him and snapped the curtains closed.

"Mark!" She giggled, quite enjoying him showing some jealousy.

"Damn ape comes in and starts pawing at you. I'll riddle his poses with verses of my own - bulletholes, the damn ass," he grumbled. Then he limped to the study.

Her smile faded and she cocked her head at his back. "Poses give a man a pardon for being sentimental. How special to earn a man's admiration to the depth that he'd risk putting even a line of his sentiment on paper." Perhaps if he knew how precious it would be to receive some kind of intentional display of affection that he couldn't blame on being 'caught up in the moment' and recant...

He turned in the doorway, his face hard. "Such idiotic notions are nothing but love letters," he spat. "Get in here so we can discuss what his call was about."

She stood and forced a small smile as tears burned. "And no one could possibly wants to give me love letters?"

"I didn't say that," he seethed.

"I don't much care to hear what I assume was another way my father found to sell me for his gain. I'm tired of being a forced obligation on everyone, something no one wants to take or keep." She headed for the staircase.

"Would love letters be received?" The quietness of his words didn't carry far.

Stopping at the bottom step, she turned and met his eyes. "They would be kept for always."

The man limped forward, his cane tapping on the marble floor, and he stopped a hairs breath away. He reached out, the back of his fingers caressing her cheek. "I'm going to get things wrong more than right." Then he took her hand, his expression like a nervous schoolboy. "I don't mean to compare you to Anna, and I never want you to feel like you're not good enough."

She forced a brave smile, the unshed tears making her voice come out no stronger than a whisper. "But you remind me every day that I'm not."

His chest stilled and he stared, as if realizing the truth of her words. "Because I'm a goddamn idiot," he snarled. Then his kiss sent all coherent thought out the window. The room spun by the time he broke the kiss. "You will sleep in my chambers tonight."

The huskiness in his voice still held on, sending her heart into palpitations. She cleared her throat and let go of his dinner jacket that she must've grabbed to keep from melting to the floor, speechless for once. A rakish smile curled up the corner of his mouth and he left her staring after him.

Hope fluttered. Then she hurried after him as he disappeared into his study. "Mark?"

He stopped near his desk and turned, leaning both hands on his cane and the slight smile still on his lips.

"Um, what happened with Mr. Manchester?"

In an instant, his smile fell flat. "We'll discuss it in a few days after it's resolved."

Her brow furrowed. "But you said we're partners, that I should know what it was because it's about me."

A deep sigh escaped and he eased into his chair. "Come sit." He seemed worried. He patted his lap so she sat. His hand rested on the babe. Those blue eyes met hers. "It was a bondservant agreement."

"What is that?"

The man looked ill. "Like an indentured servant. With how distraught your father was when he asked me to marry you, I can only assume he was deep in his cups when he signed this contract." His hand rested on her back. "There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Are you just saying that?" She swallowed hard and her hand clutched his.

He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over it. He held her eyes. "You're my wife and aren't going anywhere. John is taking care of things. I promise you." She must've looked worried because he continued with what he looked reluctant to discuss. "The other party has agreed to void the contract if compensated for the debt. He does hold some legal ground being the contract was signed before our marriage was even arranged. Rather than risk it, we're settling it financially and offering incentive to do so."

"Bribing, you mean." Her voice quivered. It wasn't guaranteed.

"I ensured it's an offer he won't refuse." His voice didn't hold an edge, as if worried himself.

"If it doesn't work, how many years is it for? Isn't an indentured servant seven?"

"It will work."

"Mark."

His eyes searched hers, grief etching his voice. "Bondservant is for life. But I offered double the price to sweeten the deal."

Frightened tears welled and panic bubbled up. "If he doesn't take it, he owns the babe then too. He - "

He cupped her face in his steady hands. "Five thousand pounds will not be refused," he stated.

" _Five_ thousand?" Her mouth fell open.

"I expect a counter, which we have the means to cover."

"What if others come forward with contracts?" Her hands wrapped around his wrists, needing so desperately to feel safe.

"If no others have been filed, they can be considered null." His eyes clouded. "I would never buy a woman, but in essence, I dont think there's another choice. John suggested that I leave today to see the King. If I explain the circumstances, he can seal the marriage so it can never be broken." Those blue eyes searched hers in all seriousness. "Divorce would never be possible. Do you want that?"

Her heart twisted. "You would do that for me?" When he nodded, tears splashed onto her lap. "Do you want to?"

His throat convulsed in a hard swallow. "If you wish to stay, I don't want to lose you."

Flinging her arms around his neck, she sniffled. "If you should have to resort to bondslave papers, I would not object to you owning me."

"If it should come to that, nothing else here changes. I would never take advantage of it." His arms wrapped around in a tight embrace. "John will be sending the signed papers back today and I'll be back within the week. We should check the babe to make sure you're both sound before I go." He patted her hip to get up.

A knock echoed on the bedroom door just after Mark finished declaring the babe sound. "Yes?" he barked, seeming a bit on edge since Mr. Manchester's visit.

"The seamstress is here, my lord. Shall I have her set up in the sitting room?" Brigands called through the door.

Mark buttoned up the back of her dress. "In Her Ladyship's chambers," he called.

"Yes, my lord." Brigands' footsteps faded away.

When he finished, he took her hand and led the way to her chambers.

The seamstress brought yards and yards of every fabric imaginable and had footmen piling the samples in a corner of the room. A young girl helped the seamstress set out supplies and set out a modeling stool for measuring the hemline.

"No stool," Mark ordered.

Everyone in the room spun around in surprise and offered a bow. "My lord." The seamstress offered a curtsey. "Madam Antoine," she said in a French accent. "We are honored to be of service."

"This is my wife. As you see, she's in a delicate way. No stool shall be used lest she fall."

The woman offered her a curtsey too. "Of course. We shall make you dresses of the finest fashion in Paris."

Paris. Her heart beat faster with excitement and her eyes flew to Mark. He'd sent for a seamstress from Paris. "I don't need anything fancy here."

He simply smiled and looked at the seamstress. "My wife is modest. Convince her to spoil herself, Madam. See that she has a thick winter cloak and nightclothes that will accommodate the babe too. And any fripperies she desires. Funds are not an object." His eyes lit up, as if he found pleasure in being able to spoil her. "I'll return before I must depart." He looked at the seamstress. "I trust she'll be content in your hands." It was almost as if it served as a warning...like her reputation may've reached their ears.

The seamstress smiled. "Of course, my lord. My clients are always pleased."

* * *

His stomach twisted as he paced in his chambers twenty minutes later, ignoring the pain in his knee. Despite being very firm with the seamstress in his letters that Tanya was to be treated with respect, worry gnawed that they'd gotten wind of the rumors. Giving in to the stress, he limped down the hall to her chambers and knocked. Then he stepped in.

She stood in her chemise with yards of fabric strewn over her shoulder by the seamstress and a young woman - likely an apprentice - taking measurements. Her hair had been twisted up in a French knot to stay out of the way. He smiled at the chaos of a woman enjoying herself. "Are you finding it to your liking?"

Her head whipped around to him with tears in her eyes.

"Tanya, what's wrong?" He limped closer.

"We can add this," the seamstress said, seeming distressed herself. She held up a clump of cotton and pressed it up under a yard of satin. "See? It doesn't even show."

Tanya shook her head and the tears fell.

If the women had said anything to upset her, he'd have their heads. "What's going on?" he snapped at the seamstress. "Go in the hall while I talk to my wife."

The two women hurried out.

His voice softened and he took her hand. "Why are you crying?"

She burst into sobs, unable to speak for a moment.

"Shhh, it's alright." He gathered her in his arms.

"The, the materials...are s,so fine," she hiccupped. "They show everything."

He frowned. "What do you mean?" Then he dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.

She picked up a red satin dress that the seamstress had whipped together as a rough outline of measurements. When she turned around with it on, something in his chest lurched.

The fine material clung to her bosom as it should, but it also revealed the disfigurement to her breast, gaping and puckering on one side. Those big brown eyes turned up to him, shining with fresh tears. "I didn't realize how bad it is." She hiccupped as more tears fell. "She's tried a bunch of things but they all show. What of it's worse after the babe is born?" Big eyes looked up at him, as if he could make it all better.

He swallowed hard, not sure how to break it to her. "It could be more apparent once you no longer are feeding the babe, but it also could be better because the engorgement will be gone." Odds would be the former. "Perhaps print materials would make you feel better about it." He grabbed a blue tiny flower print and stretched it across her chest. "See? No one will even notice." He smiled in encouragement. "If someone is looking at your bosom that close, I shall punch him anyways."

She looked up at him and a tear fell from the tip of her dark lashes. "But you'll know."

It was like both a slam to the gut and hole shot in the heart. He lowered the material. "Sweetheart, it doesn't matter to me any more than my knee scars matter to you." He cupped her breast, the weight and shape noticeably different from the other side. "This is beautiful to me because you didn't let him take your spirit. Do what makes you feel pretty in public. Alone with me, you won't hide your body." Brushing a kiss over her lips, he set aside the material and walked to the door.

"Mark?"

He turned.

"She said it's not the fashion, but may I have high necklines?"

"Tell seamstress however you wish your clothes to be made." He frowned. As if having the disfigurement wasn't enough, she was ashamed of the scar at the base of her throat too.

The woman blinked. "But the husband says how they're to be made, I thought."

Opening the door, he nodded for the women to come in. "The clothes are to be made to Her Ladyship's specifications," he ordered, his tone only allowing an idiot to argue. "In all matters." He gave the seamstress a pointed look.

"Yes, my lord." The seamstress and her apprentice bobbed a curtesy.

"And the other item is to my specifications," he said under his breath to the seamstress on his way out. Already he couldn't wait to return home.

* * *

"I'm only a telegram away. You have my stops?"

She sniffled and nodded, holding up the paper of the towns he'd stop overnight at on the way to see the King. "You'll be home for Christmas?"

"The day before Christmas Eve." He brushed a kiss over her lips. "No more tears," he grunted. Her clingyness made it all the harder to leave her for a week. "Send for the surgeon if you need him. Brigands' wife is stronger now and looks forward to keeping you entertained. She has helped birth babes, so let her see to you until the surgeon arrives should the babe not be sound. Don't cry and upset yourself. Make sure you eat."

"Telegram when you get there?"

He cracked a smile, the feeling warming his heart. "I will. You have no need to worry about me - I'm too ornery to perish, remember?" Then he turned to Brigands beside her. "Look after her and the babe." Instead of an order, it came out more like a worried plea.

"I shall look out for them like my own flesh and blood, my lord. Cook is staying the nights so he can ride fast for the surgeon should she need him, as you requested. A telegram will be sent should she need you."

With a nod, he pushed down the nerves of leaving her and climbed in the coach.

Brigands and Tom stood on each side of her as she sniffled into a handkerchief. Something inside ached already, an ache he'd forgotten could exist - homesickness.

* * *

"Today is Tuesday?"

"Yes, for the third time," Teresa, Brigands' wife, sighed where she sat across the coffee table in the sitting room. "Focus and the time will go faster." The dear lady tried to teach her how to knit, but her heart wasn't in it today.

"I'm sorry. I miss him. I thought he'd at least write one letter after he sent his telegram."

"He has business, dear. Besides, his letter would arrive after he returns home."

"Oh." She sighed in disappointment. Pulling out his telegram from her pocket, she studied it for the thousandth time.

 _Here STOP Mark STOP_

Stuffing it in her pocket again, she frowned. "It's so short. Do you think he's angry with me that he had to take the trip? Maybe his leg is hurting him. Oh, he shouldn't have gone!"

"Easy, dear. Each letter costs money in a telegram. Perhaps he wants to save it in case the horse throws a shoe or some emergency. He isn't angry and is a doctor to know how to care for his leg if it acts up."

* * *

The day before Christmas Eve. She sat at the window in his chambers that offered a long view down the drive. Her stomach twisted tighter with each passing hour. Glancing down at the telegram in her hand from three nights ago, she chewed her lip.

 _Done STOP On way home STOP Mark_

"My lady, he'll come." Brigands' footsteps creaked across the wood floor.

"No, something is wrong. I can feel it." She didn't tear her eyes from the snow-covered drive.

"Perhaps the roads aren't as clear North. Don't fret," he cooed. "You should finish your plate and then get some rest. You don't want to be tired and ill when he returns for Christmas Eve."

The next day she convinced Brigands and Tim to take her to town and send telegrams to all of Mark's scheduled stops. He traced half way home to an inn where he departed two days ago. He never made it to his next stop.

 _No one matches description STOP Road robbery on near highway yesterday STOP Will send news if fatalities STOP_

She rubbed her belly and paced for an hour.

"Sit and rest that babe, or I'll take you home," Brigands ordered.

So she sat and another two hours passed. Then the response came.

 _Gun shots STOP No known fatalities STOP Injured taken to Chesterton STOP_

A telegram went to Chesterton and returned minutes later.

 _Man beaten and shot STOP Unconscious STOP No identification STOP Brown hair STOP Thin build STOP_

Her heart started beating again. "It's not him." But no one knew where he was.

* * *

Sitting in the windowseat in his chambers the next night, she opened the window and looked up at the Christmas star, her breath coming in tiny cloud puffs through the silent air. "Please let him be safe," she whispered. "I know you've blessed me with so much, but please bring him home for Christmas." Snowflakes floated from the clouds.

Little cottages dappled the distance as soft golden glows while families made merry. Shivers took hold in the icy air, and the clock struck midnight. Closing the window, she rubbed her arms and climbed into his bed. The babe slept sound as she cried herself to sleep.

Horses. Her eyes fluttered open. Hooves clip-clopped. Pushing herself up, she strained to listen. They drew closer. A glance at the clock said half past one. Then a horse whinnied outside the window. Shooting out of bed, she shoved aside the curtains. A carriage stopped at the front door. It was either Mark or someone come to deliver news of him. Without grabbing a robe or lantern, she tore out the door and downstairs.

* * *

He no sooner stepped into the house than Tanya flew at him out of the darkness. Her hair was loose and feet bare as she held her belly, throwing herself into his arms. Stumbling back a step, a smile broke free as he caught his burden. The woman burst into tears. "Tanya?"

"I was so scared what happened. I heard about a highway robbery and then you didn't make it to your stop." Her arms crushed in a hug and she sprinkled kisses over his face. Then she stilled and pulled back with wide eyes. Her hand pressed to his brow. "You have a fever." Her hands cupped his cheeks and then pulled off his gloves. "Your hands are like ice. Mark?"

"Let's go to bed and then we'll talk. Are you and the babe sound?" He shrugged off his cloak, transferring the cane between hands.

"Yes." She directed the footman to set his trunk in the hall. Then she set aside his cloak, top hat and gloves and led him up the stairs. "Should I send for the surgeon?"

"No. I saw a surgeon two days ago," he panted. The goddamn pain made it almost unbearable to climb the stairs. "A stray bullet went through the carriage during the highway robbery and into my bad knee, out of all the damn places. No money left to telegram you."

She took his arm to help at the top of the stairs. "Did you need surgery or did it go through?"

"He dug out the bullet, but I just wanted to get home."

"And now you're ill from infection." She slipped under his arm at the top of the stairs and draped it over her slim shoulders. Then she anchored an arm around his middle.

"Jesus, you smell good." A week had been too damn long without her.

"And I see the fever is making you delusional." She helped him sit on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt.

"I wish to hell I felt well enough to enjoy this," he mumbled, feeling weaker by the minute. "It's so cold in here."

"Because you're burning up, Mark." She said something, but her words grew harder and harder to follow.

Her gentle hands pressed against his chest, the effort too much to resist, so he laid down across the bed. She unbuttoned his pants. Sweet Jesus, this day would get a whole lot better if she was going to make love. Reaching up, it took a great deal of effort to target her arm. Then his fingers wrapped around the supple flesh and tried to pull her closer for a kiss. She, however, pulled down his pants. White-hot pain seared up his leg, the urge to vomit slamming as fast as all vision fading.

* * *

She ran a rag over Mark's brow, the effort probably futile but nonetheless something to do while her stomach ate itself. "He fainted the minute I pulled his pants over his knee. He's so hot."

"Surgery will nudge up the fever tonight and tomorrow, but it should improve after that now that we're getting the infection out." The surgeon on holiday from Scotland smiled.

The moment she glanced at the surgeon digging in Mark's knee, he pulled out some threads from pants that the bullet must've embedded. She drew a deep breath and looked away. Mark murmured something as he started to wake up.

"Hold on. Chloroform isn't a good friend with a fever. Almost done, lad." The surgeon's brow furrowed as he leaned in to clear out more infection. "Dearie, come sit on his thigh so he doesn't move."

Her heart pounded with nervous anxiety as she walked around the bed and eased her weight down to keep him still.

Mark flinched and gave a drugged-like groan of pain. His brow furrowed and breathing picked up as he began to awaken.

The surgeon whipped in sutures impossibly fast like that of a man with experience from the days before chloroform. He wrapped on a bandage and put his tools in a basin of hot water like Mark did after surgery. "There you are, lad. Now, let's see about that fever."

Her eyebrows rose higher and higher as the surgeon pulled the sheets off Mark to leave him bare and then began rubbing vinegar on his feet.

"Get as much broth and water into him as possible the next two days."

"I thought for a fever you're supposed to not feed." How odd this man was.

"Don't look so skeptical, dearie. Your husband taught me these tricks, and I've seen remarkable improvement in patient recovery as opposed to bloodletting and starving them."

She frowned. "You've worked with Mark?"

"About ten years ago. I heard about a crazy physician in England whose patients survived things other physicians deemed incurable. So I followed him around for three months and couldn't believe my eyes. Do you know what they say about geniuses?"

"No." She cocked her head in confusion.

"They're often seen as insane." He waived a hand at Mark. "I wonder at times if he's simply ahead of the times. In fifty or a hundred years, science will probably say bloodletting is barbaric rather than the standard."

Sure enough, by sunrise the fever fell enough that Mark's eyes fluttered open.

"Top 'o the morning, lad!" The surgeon remained cheery even as her own back ached and her eyelids drooped with exhaustion.

Mark's brow furrowed, his cheeks still red with the fever.

"You're still confused, aren't you?" She scooted closer and took his hot hand.

His eyes shifted to her. "I couldn't sleep without you," he sighed. "Making love made my leg hurt...you be here." The words slurred in his haze and he gave a weak pat to his belly for her to climb on.

The surgeon choked on a laugh, and her face burned in embarrassment. He patted her back. "It's a good sign when a man feels well enough to be interested in the marriage bed. I shall be by at lunch to check on him. Remember to feed and water him."

Once the surgeon left, she climbed in bed. Contact with his hot body made her nightgown cling, so she sat up minutes later and stripped. He seemed to sleep peacefully enough, so she curled up to get some rest.

* * *

Late morning sunlight poured in, and she stretched in bed. Rolling over toward Mark, she opened her eyes. And blinked.

Mark propped up against the pillows and looked down at her, a tender look in his eye. The fever still burned in his cheeks.

"Do you hurt?"

"Not as much as last night." His words came out slow and soft, unlike his usual crisp, clear delivery. "It feels like there's an incision."

She frowned. "You don't remember surgery during the night?"

He grunted in disagreement.

Goosebumps skittered down - goosebumps that shouldn't happen next to a fevered body. Her eyes widened and heart stopped. Unless if the blankets had fallen. "I don't think I want to look."

The corner of his mouth curled up in a lopsided smile. "I've very much been enjoying the view." But he leaned forward and pulled the blanket up...from her thighs. His hand swept over the swell of her belly, and he slid down in bed with a soft grunt of pain. Then his arm slipped under and tugged her closer to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm in need of a bath, but..."

She smiled. "But you need me more."

"Never said that," he growled and his other hand rested on the babe. He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"You seem to be feeling a bit better." Her fingers stroked over his hard abdomen. He still felt hot.

"Man improves with a naked woman."

WIth a frown, she looked back at him. He didn't speak or act like himself. "You were much too hot to sleep with last night."

"Remind me. No recollection." With one arm, he rolled her up to straddle his hips, leaving her completely bare and bracing her hands on his chest.

She gasped in shock and scrambled off, yanking up the sheets to cover herself. "You are most certainly still delirious with fever!"

He gave a lazy grin. "It's so goddamn hard sleeping next to your luscious body." His hands swept over her belly.

Her heart sank. "Mark, who am I?" He most certainly had a fever affecting him.

"My Tanya." The man guided her hand under the sheets and wrapped her fingers around him. His eyes rolled back with a sigh. "I've wanted you for so long."

Jerking her hand away, she sat back and held a nightgown over herself. "Mark, you're feverish and don't know what you're doing. You need the surgeon again." Her heart pounded in nervousness.

His eyes drifted shut and his words grew faded with slumber. "Shhh. Won't hurt you." He prodded her to lie down again. His hand rested on her bare belly once she settled. "Wish I deserved you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Thanks for the review, An Old Soul in Wonderland! It was fun reading your perspective. I hope you'll be in for a bit of a surprise in this chapter. :)**

* * *

A rash had formed on his knee by lunch. She vigorously rubbed the vinegar on his feet and arms and legs in a desperate attempt to draw the fever from his head while Brigands laid on cold rags. "Mark, come on. Wake up."

"My lady, I once saw him put Mistress Anna in a bath when she had influenza. It pulled down her temperature," Brigands offered. "Cook and I could get him in."

The moment he was lowered into a lukewarm bath, he muttered something. When she trickled water over his head for several minutes to cool him, his eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, thank god." Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Mark, your knee is infected. I don't know what to do..."

A strange look filled his unfocused eye. "Anna, don't drink that." He caught her hand and took something away not there. His words came out slurred and odd.

"He's hallucinating." Brigands added a bucket of warm water when goosebumps ran over Mark's flesh.

Mark stared blankly at the water, but his hands moved in a manner like when he'd done surgery. He handed her something. "Eric, take her breast." Her stomach lurched - he'd helped with Anna's breast surgery. Then he burst into hysterical sobs.

She tried to lean over the tub to console him, but the babe was in the way.

"My lord, it's not real," Brigands said and set a hand on his shoulder. But Mark was in no condition to reason.

She met Brigands' eyes and presented her back to him. Once he unbuttoned her dress, she shed to her chemise and held Brigands' hand as she got in the tub. Stretching out across Mark in the tiny space, she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around. "It's alright. It's not real." She set his hand on the babe. "It's Tanya. Don't cry."

Brigands stepped out but left the door cracked open.

He quieted after a couple minutes and seemed to sleep.

Another two hours of getting him in and out of the bath and holding him through the same hallucination over and over. Without waiting for the nightmare to start after the third time, she got in the tub to be ready to hold him. The fourth time, he remained asleep.

When she sat up to get him out again, his eyes opened. "Tanya?" He sounded like himself, although tired.

A smile broke free, the motion so foreign after what felt like forever. "I'm here. You have a fever from your leg."

"How long in the bath?" He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in pain.

"Perhaps fifteen minutes." Coherent, he'd be able to say what to do.

"Out. Chills start soon after."

"Brigands?" She sat up.

The man entered with a towel, keeping his head turned from the now transparent chemise as he helped her out.

She staped behind and got dressed as the men put Mark to bed.

Mark laid with a single sheet up to his waist and his leg exposed. Brigands and Tim wrapped his knee in some kind of poultice. He fell back asleep.

* * *

His eyes opened as the surgeon listened to his heart. "MacLeod?"

The surgeon straightened and smiled. "Debonairo. Didn't fancy meeting you like this."

A severe frown marred Mark's features. "I heard you were dead."

The man barked out a hearty laugh. "Afraid not. Got banged up in the carriage accident but it didn't kill me. You, old friend, are in sorry shape yourself. Who chopped at your knee?"

"Who hasn't?" Then he seemed to notice her wiping him down as the fever broke. He turned his head, his expression serious. "Did I hallucinate?"

"You did." She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered, "You acted like you were doing Anna's surgery. Then you wept. You didn't say anything for which to look so worried about." She sat back and ran the rag over his brow.

He gave an apologetic, somewhat self-conscious look, though.

"This poultice draws out infection?" The surgeon's voice cut in.

He tore his gaze away, but his hand slipped into hers. "Yes..."

The conversation faded into the background as she looked down. His thumb stroked over the back of her hand, and he held tight like perhaps he worried that she'd leave.

So much conversation wore him out, and he slept until mid-afternoon.

* * *

"I need to tell you something." He patted the bed.

She got up from a chair near him and sat.

He took her hand and searched her eyes. "The King...he does not favor me being I do disagree with him in Parliament."

The blood drained to her feet. "He didn't make the marriage unbreakable?"

Regret filled his eyes. "He did not. I met with John and..." He seemed ill. "I had to prove that debt 'due' to me would far surpass any man who might have any contract from your father. Being our marriage could've been annulled by the man who had bondslave papers, I claimed every medical bill, clothes, food, paying off the two men...everything I could to create an astronomical debt to report." He swallowed hard. "I filed bondslave papers for cost that would be impossible for anyone else to exceed."

"So I'm yours forever?" Her heart beat faster as tears welled.

He looked so ashamed. "If you wish to live separate lives, I'll still provide for you - "

She flung herself down on his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. "This is the best Christmas I could've wished for." She sniffled and sat up so he could breathe.

His lips pressed together like he held back emotion, and he cupped her cheek. Words seemed beyond him. "Thank you," he said in a thick voice.

"For what?"

"Staying with me during surgery."

Her eyes bugged. "You were awake?"

"No, but I know by now that you wouldn't have left."

A smile bloomed. "Could it be, my dear Mark, that you need me?"

The man didn't reply, but he didn't object either.

* * *

He couldn't conceal the look of pain in his eyes at dinnertime. His cheeks felt warm again.

She set a tray on the nightstand and pushed another pillow behind him to prop up. "The surgeon said you must eat and drink."

"I taught him that. Screw that," he growled weakly and closed his eyes. "You should tell him to just cut the goddamn leg off if you're not going to just let it kill me."

"You're just in a foul mood because you hurt. It will get better." She moved the ice to a different spot on his knee. "I don't have anything you can have for the pain but brandy, and the surgeon said that's not good for a fever. Men always feel better with full stomachs." When she set the spoon of broth to his lips, he didn't open at first. "Mark, you must eat," she begged. "I don't know how else to get you better."

His eyes cracked open, pain squinting the corners. "If I perish, you become a rich widow with no bondslave papers."

"And spend the rest of my days crying over you? I think I prefer my cranky cuddle bear."

He gave her a long look and finally opened his mouth.

She smiled. "That's a good man. You know I can be more stubborn than you, so there's no point in trying to resist me getting you well. I shall baby you until you hop out of bed just to avoid me." The spoon raised to his lips again.

He grunted and took another spoonful. "Including a sponge bath after dinner?"

A hot flush crept up. "You're quizzing me."

Something in his eyes faded, and he seemed to withdraw into himself. His gaze shifted away. "Yes, I suppose."

She blinked. "Oh. You're serious."

"I have no need for a woman to fumble with me," he grunted in a hard tone.

Setting a hand on his arm, she caught his eye. "I thought you were teasing. I should not mind, but I shall quit if you get cold. You don't need the fever going up. I will do my best not to 'fumble' with you." She bit her lip to hold back an embarrassed smile.

"You'd do well to learn before we're trying to make a baby," he grumbled.

Her back went a little straighter. "Babies? I thought - "

"All women have a penchant for a gaggle of brats running around. Is there reason I should deny you that?" he snapped.

"You want to have more children?" Her heart melted. "With me?"

"Do have plans for some other man to sire children?" he growled.

"No, Mark." Her smile grew.

"Then you're stuck with me, woman."

"Yes, Mark." Happiness threatened to explode her inside out.

"Feed me. I should not do well siring children with only one leg, woman."

"Yes, Mark." She held back a laugh of giddiness. "I missed your growling." Then she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He turned his head and captured her mouth, his tongue dipping past her lips for a sip. When she moved to sit back, he captured her face in his hands, holding her eyes. "I missed you too," he whispered. Then he let go. "Finish so your dinner doesn't get cold too," he snapped. But his hand rested on her belly.

A breathless sigh escaped. She could've floated away on a cloud of bliss.

After dinner, Brigands helped her change the sheets and bring in more candles for better light. Her face burned in embarrassment as he helped lay a towel under Mark. Brigands surely knew she was about to be completely improper giving her husband a sponge bath. She avoided his eyes the entire time.

"Shall I bring anything else, my lady?" He said it as if asking if she'd like tea, and he set a basin of warm water on the nightstand.

"No, thank you." Then she glanced at him, the flush growing hotter when he gave a smile of approval and left.

Mark sat up, leaning forward for her to wash his back. He didn't seem the least embarrassed by his lack of clothing or that the butler knew what was about to transpire.

Picking up the rag in the basin, she sat behind him. Her heart beat faster having such close view of his muscles. His shoulders spanned quite a bit wider than hers and carried heavy muscling.

"Are you frightened?" The words startled even though they came out patient and soft. He looked over his shoulder.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat and ran the rag across his shoulders. His smooth skin had a slight bronze hue that stopped at the waist - it was so very faint that it'd never been noticeable before. "Do you go out in the sun in summer?" The tan suited him quite well.

"I would ride horseback to the bank sometimes in summer. It gets warm under the sun, so on occasion I'd take off my shirt and ride through fields."

A soft sigh escaped as heat rushed between her thighs. He'd be so beautiful to see on horseback in the fields. Shirtless. With the sun glistening off his hard body. Her hand skimmed over the thick, warm muscles. Elegant curves contoured down into a trim waist. So much power stored in him. What was she doing? Jerking her hand back, she cleared her throat and continued wiping his back. She moved to his front and avoided his eyes.

"You may touch," he said in a quiet tone. When her eyes raised to his, he added, "The familiar is less frightening." Such generous words.

"You don't frighten me anymore." She looked up from beneath her lashes, painfully shy.

He set her hand on his chest. His heart beat strong and steady underneath. His warm, wet muscular chest glistened in the golden candlelight. Those blue eyes darkened with desire, chasing the pain away if only for a few moments. Then his hand laid over hers on his chest and he leaned forward. Strong fingers buried in her hair as he cupped her head and molded his lips to hers. The pins fell from her hair, but he didn't seem to care. His taste intoxicated. His kiss consumed. His heartbeat almost touched hers.

Pressing him back, she nipped his bottom lip. His groan of pleasure washed up more waves of pleasure. She pressed her lips to his chest as he laid back, letting her hands skim over the hills and valleys of muscle to memorize every curve of him. Tossing her hair out of the way over her shoulder, she smiled when he hissed in a breath and his hips arched as her hair dragged down his chest while she sprinkled kisses down his stomach.

Then she came to the mysterious area and sat up. His eyes remained closed even though he seemed somewhat uncomfortable by the swelling. Setting a hand on him to see if it would ease his pain, her eyes flew to his face when he gasped her name.

She gave long strokes to soothe him. His face relaxed even though the swelling worsened. "This doesn't hurt you?"

"No, it's wonderful," he breathed. The man seemed to grow restless the more she tried to relax him. "Tanya," he panted and stilled her hand with his eyes squeezed shut.

"But if it makes you feel better...?" She frowned in confusion and gave another stroke.

A choked gasp and he jerked a towel over himself and pulled her hand away. Then he seemed to relax, although his chest still heaved.

"Mark? Did I hurt you?"

"God no," he panted.

"Why'd you pull my hand away? Did I do it wrong?" She pulled her hands into her lap. Another thing that she wasn't good enough at like Anna?

He balled up the towel and dropped it on the floor. "I'll get it in a bit." Then his eyes cracked open. "You did it too right. I didn't want to startle you - you've much to learn about intimacy yet." His eyes drifted shut and he seemed to melt into bed. "You were perfect," he sighed in a dreamy voice.

How perfectly odd. So she resumed washing him and his breathing deepened until he slept. "How singular you are, husband. Look at how comfortable I made you with only a touch. I dare not imagine how fast you'll fall asleep when making love."

In the early morning hours, he grew restless and painful again. He laid panting in agony as his knee ballooned and the fever didn't let up to give him relief with drink. Desperate to ease his torture, she shed her nightgown and kissed his lips to give something else to focus on as her hand stroked him.

* * *

"But he's sleeping so deeply. It's not the fever keeping him under?" She frowned when the surgeon declared Mark improving.

"Dearie, you're doing something to keep him comfortable enough to sleep a good sleep. Keep it up as long as he can handle it. His temperature seems to be coming down."

Her face burned in embarrassment.

"Illness and pain can drain the mind and body. If you can keep his spirits up and get him to rest like this, far be it from me to judge how you're helping him through major surgery recovery without pain medication." He smiled and packed up his bag. "Call me if he hasn't woken by this afternoon; otherwise, he should be sound enough that I will return tomorrow."

Mark slept until noon and then was able to sit up in bed with a little help and feed himself.

Embarrassment from her behavior kept her avoiding him. He acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She was grateful for him overlooking it at first. But as the days passed and he began to leave the bed for periods of time and didn't show any physical affection whatsoever, irritation grew. He even talked less and less until going to bed at night meant awkward silence.

"You don't have to sleep in here," he said as she took off her robe one evening to get in bed.

The breath in her chest caught. That dagger hurt. Without turning to face him, she shrugged the robe back up her shoulders. "If you didn't want me, why did you buy me?"

"What?"

She turned to him with a heavy heart. "Now that you're getting better, you won't talk to me or touch me."

His brow furrowed. "Come here." He patted the bed. When she sat, he took her hand in a way that was becoming so familiar whenever he had a heart-to-heart talk. "For one, it was a technicality to keep our marriage. We shall not speak of it because you are not some animal purchased at market. You are my wife. In this marriage, that is as far as any ownership goes."

She nodded and searched his eyes, still so confused by the past few days.

"I haven't brought up the other day because...I'm embarrassed." The dear man actually blushed. "You made me quite comfortable twice, both of which occasions I fell asleep before I could return the...gesture." His face grew to a flaming red. "That morning, I lost myself and was not at all a gentleman causing a need for a cleanup."

Her cheeks burned at the memory. He'd been sleep before she'd returned to ask the question that morning. Drawing a deep breath for courage, she met his eyes. "Is that what causes a babe?"

He nodded.

Pursing her lips, she frowned. "So there will be a babe every time we make love?"

A blank look and then his eyebrow cocked. "Um, no. The timing for the woman must be right too."

"Oh." How very complex this was.

"One thing at a time." He cracked a brief smile before the blush returned. "It's one thing to talk about intimacy to teach you, but it's another to engage in it and then talk."

She smiled. "You are shy about these things."

He cleared his throat, the redness intensifying. "I'm saying I...I would not object should you desire to engage in such activity again, should I be permitted to reciprocate."

She giggled. "You sound so formal, Mark. What you mean is you enjoyed me pleasing you and wish to please me too?"

He grunted.

Lifting her chin, she smiled and met his eyes in challenge. "I should say that for breaking my heart the past few days, you should tell your lady love."

"You're not my 'lady love,' woman," he growled.

Her smile only grew. "You find me pretty and let me pleasure you, and you want to pleasure me, so that qualifies me as your lady love."

"Or a mistress - lucky for you, you have a ring," he said dryly.

She laughed. "Mark, a man would not rush into danger for his mistress, or sustain a terrible knee injury but not resent her." Then she laid down, her heart lighter than in weeks. "Should you ravish me for my saucy tongue, I shall accept my punishment," she sighed in melodramatics.

He stared down at her beside him, completely speechless. Then he swatted her bottom. "That's for mocking me."

She giggled.

The man slid down in bed beside her but propped up on his elbow. His hand slid up the nightgown.

A soft gasp of surprise silenced the giggles and turned them into pants of pleasure.

"This is for your arrogance, my lady love," he whispered against her lips and let his hand weave magic.

* * *

Never would it have occurred that Mark was such a shy man. By day he remained gruff and somewhat distant out of 'respect.' He could be slightly prudish, blunt, boarish and commanding. At night, he was affectionate, sweet, gentle and patient. This hidden side of him was so precious because he allowed only her to see him without his armor. He even seemed as eager as her to discover the marriage bed at night, although he still made no move to consummate. Perhaps because he thought the scarring too severe to make it possible. If that was the case, remaining oblivious a bit longer was better.

She walked on his arm down the drive on New Year's Eve to help stretch his leg. It no longer gave out on him, but the limp was no less pronounced either and still necessitated the use of a cane.

"Go ahead and walk. I'm a bit slow," he grunted like he was embarrassed.

"I don't mind."

"Go. It's good for the babe to get in a brisk walk. I'll meet you at the mailbox."

With reluctance, she left him and returned with the mail, only to have him urge her to take it to the house and come back to get in more exercise for the babe.

When she dropped the mail off and returned outside, Mark stood at the end of the drive talking to Mr. Manchester. The men walked down the drive as Mr. Manchester led his horse.

She walked up with a smile.

"Marchioness, a pleasure, of course. Motherhood does become you."

A blush crept up in embarrassment at the slight faux pas in topic. "Thank you. Mr. Manchester, what a pleasant surprise."

He dug in his saddle bag and pulled out a tulip. "I came to check how things are going."

When he moved to hand her the flower, Mark snatched it and jammed it in a saddlebag pocket. "The next flower gets burned. It's indecent."

The man frowned. "It is not when intruding on a lady of the house for lunch. It's quite socially acceptable, old boy."

"Not in this house," Mark growled.

"Am I right or am I right that the brute hasn't given you a single flower, dove?" A twinkle of merriment glinted in Mr. Manchester's eyes.

She held back a smile when Mark glared at the man. "My husband provides well and does not need to bring me flowers."

Mark threw the man a cocky look.

"No woman _needs_ flowers. Just because Anna didn't like flowers because they made her sneeze doesn't mean this dove won't want them." He frowned at Mark.

She dropped her eyes and Mark's arm as her heart twisted. "I shall go tell Cook to prepare another plate."

"Tanya," Mark called.

But she hurried inside. Dragging her feet as long as possible, she returned to the sitting room.

Mr. Manchester stood and wrung his hands. "Marchioness, I meant no offense - "

She held up a hand and smiled. "Of course. Would you like tea while you wait for lunch?"

"Do sit and join us." The man stepped aside to make more room on the loveseat.

Mark cleared his throat pointedly. "She will not sit unprotected near you to be mooned over. My wife will sit here." He patted the end of his loveseat that would be a tight fit. When she squeezed in beside him, he propped his poor leg on the coffee table and draped an arm across the back of the settee behind her to make room? The man looked far too pleased with himself and the blatant gesture of possessiveness.

"I am curious, husband, why Mr. Manchester is writing poses and bringing me flowers while you do not?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I rescued you and have been undergoing repeated surgeries."

"Convalescing is the perfect time to write sonnets and poses and ballads for the lovely dove." That mischievous twinkle returned to Mr. Machester's eyes.

Mark gave him a pointed look. "You're welcome to shut your mouth at any time."

She smiled and gave a gentle pat to his thigh. "I suppose I shall accept that as better than flowers if you give me a kiss." With a smile, she offered her cheek.

The man grumbled and blushed but pecked a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Has you wrapped around her finger, old boy! As a good husband should be! I heard you got out of the bank business - I told you years ago it would age you. You have this love and little rug rats to chase around now." Mr. Manchester chuckled.

She blinked and looked at Mark. "You quit the bank?"

"The next time you come over, remind me not to be at home," Mark growled and then looked at her.

"Oh, mum," Mr. Manchester giggled. "When the King refused even bondslave papers, old Mark gave him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Her mouth dropped in horror. "You gave him the bank?! But people need a bank not owned by the King?! Why?"

"Um, I shall go check on lunch," Mr. Manchester mumbled and hurried out.

He turned to her. "The King agreed to raise rates steadily over the next decade. I only took the job in the first place to remain occupied after Anna passed. It's too much to manage anymore, and we don't need the funds. Besides, I can't even make the trip to the bank anymore with my leg. Good riddance to it."

Mr. Manchester poked his head in and frowned. "Dear god, man, that's not what you told the King. You're far too fickle with the woman. Tell her what you told the King!"

"Get out!"

Mr. Manchester made a face at him.

Mark hurled a settee pillow across the room at the man, who closed the door to duck and didn't come back.

"You two are like children. One would think you're brothers with how you bicker." She cracked a smile. "Now, what is this that you told the King?"

His cheeks reddened. "Nothing of importance," he grunted.

"Tell her!" He yelled through the door.

"Excuse me." Mark pushed himself up and limped across the carpet with his cane. When he opened the door, Mr. Manchester stumbled in. Mark grabbed the man's lapel and dragged him to the front door, shoved him out and locked it. "Stay out there 'til I'm done, idiot!"

"Shit for brains! Tell her what you said!" Mr. Manchester yelled through the front door.

Her shoulders shook with laughter.

Mark limped in with a shy expression. He shut the door and sat, taking her hands. His eyes focused on where his thumb ran over her wedding ring. "I made a decision and do not wish to discuss it again after this."

"Do you regret it?" She frowned.

"No." Then he drew a deep breath. "I told the King I'd give anything to keep you. _I_ offered the bank." His eyes flicked up to hers in self-consciousness.

Her bottom lip quivered. "You just gave him the bank for no coin?"

He nodded.

No one had ever wanted her, much less given away a large fortune in exchange for just her. "Mark, the bank could've been sold for dozens of thousands of pounds." Her voice broke.

"Yes. And I received the more valuable end of the deal," he said softly.

She flung her arms around him as the tears fell.

"Kiss her! It's bloody cold out here!" a voice called through a closed window.

Turning, she burst into laughter as Mr. Manchester stood at the window with his hands cupped around his eyes to see inside.

Mark growled and heaved himself up, steadying himself before offering a hand to her. "We should let the dog back in." Then he led her to the door. At the last second, he backed her into the corner out of sight. A most satisfying kiss left her knees weak. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "I would've given ten times as much for you, my lady love."

Her heart melted, and she buried her fingers in his thick hair. Then she closed her eyes, simply basking in this moment. "I love you, Mark."

"Mark! It's cold!" Mr. Manchester pounded on the front door.

With a sigh of irritation, Mark straightened and led her out to the foyer. He opened the door. "Good thing you never married - if I was your wife, I'd leave your sorry arse out there."

Mr. Manchester smiled at her and rubbed his hands together to warm up. "You'd look rather fetching in a skirt, Mark."

In the blink of an eye, Mark smacked the back of Mr. Manchester's head. The man returned the gesture in a heartbeat and winked at her at the fun. Mark cracked his cane across the man's thigh in a flash.

"Ouch! I say, that was uncalled for, old boy!" The man rubbed his thigh, no true harm apparently done other than pride stung.

Mark set his arm around her waist. "Gawk at my wife again, and I'll crack it across your head."

Mr. Manchester pointed a finger at him. "You have an awful temper. What violence you have in front of the lady."

"Shows her she's well protected," he retorted dryly.

"Boys, behave." She smothered a laugh.

"Lunch is served, my lord." Brigands gave a slight bow and began to lead the way.

When Mark turned in distraction at Brigands' announcement, Mr. Manchester pulled her closer and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Does him good to realize how much he loves you. He shall go stark mad if I whisper in your ear."

Pressing a hand to mouth to stop the laugh, she nearly choked on it when Mark turned and his eyes shot daggers at the man. Mark stepped closer, elbowed the lawyer aside, and pushed between the two of them to offer her his arm.

She took it and looked over her shoulder at Mr. Manchester in surprise. Mark couldn't truly love her...could he?

* * *

Mr. Manchester seemed to be a good fellow, but he was tiring and left poor Mark exhausted in his recuperating state. He stretched out on the bed with the fire in the fireplace blazing to warm the room. She cuddled beside him.

"Have you given thought of names for the babe?"

"I don't know. There are not really any that I like...Jacob, Eric, Thomas... When we met, you said your middle name was Reynold. Don't the upper class have two or three middle names?" She stroked his bare chest.

"Oftentimes but it seems pretentious to use a full name in greeting."

"You, pretentious?" She smiled, and he swatted her hip. "What is your other name?"

"Marquess Marcus - clearly my parents never thought about that - Reynold Charles Debonairo..."

Her eyebrows rose as he continued a long list of his titles. "My goodness, how long did it take you to memorize that?"

He chuckled. "Until I was eleven."

"Hm. What about 'Charles'?" She tilted her head back to look at him.

The man blinked at her. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?'" she laughed and scooted down to lay her head across his stomach so she could look up at him reclined against the pillows. "You're his father."

His chest puffed up a bit. "Charles. It's a good name," he said gruffly. Then he stroked her hair absently. "What for a middle name? Would want it after your father - "

"No."

"Didn't think so. Elliot? Howard? Ugh, too stuffy... Charles..."

"Matthew?" She nibbled her lip.

"Hm. Charles Matthew Debonairo. It's a good strong name. What about for a girl?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I hate them all after a week. Would you be disappointed if it's a girl?"

He shook his head. "Boys are overrated. A girl can run around in a little dress with her curls bouncing but still punch the school bully." His hand stroked the babe as he kicked.

"You have a soft spot for little girls!" She smiled.

"Hush." Then he leaned over and pulled out a red velvet box from the nightstand drawer. "Merry Christmas."

She sat up in surprise as he set the box in her lap. "Christmas? I didn't think you'd want to celebrate."

"Then I have shocked you." He smiled. "I wanted to wait until I felt better, and then we had that awkward misunderstanding and I thought you wished I hadn't gone to the King..."

"Oh, Mark, I didn't get you anything. Brigands said you haven't acknowledged Christmas for six years." She frowned in guilt.

"Well, I wasn't married last Christmas. Your other gift is likely more for me than you, so that can be my present."

"Two? Mark..." She pressed her lips together in excitement and stared at the box for a moment. Giddiness bubbled up.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"I've never received a present. It's exciting." She giggled.

Such sadness filled his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that and ruin the moment." A tiny squeal of excitement eked out and she opened the lid. A huge gasp and her jaw dropped. Inside lay a glittering necklace in a strand of green stones. "Mark, it's so beautiful. I've never seen green stones like this."

His chuckle filled the stunned silence. "They're emeralds."

Her head whipped to him. "These are real jewels?"

"Of course." He lifted the strand from the box and draped it over her neck, clasping it from behind.

The tips of her fingers brushed over the gemstones.

He leaned forward to look over her shoulder and smiled. "I would ask that you wear this with the other gift." He set a larger box in her lap.

She frowned and looked at him. "Mark, I - "

He set a hand on her arm. "Tanya, there's no need for you to get me anything. We'll call this my Christmas gift."

So she opened it. What could he have given her to be a present for himself? Inside lay delicate, beautiful white lace. "Oh, Mark," she gasped. "Is it a shawl...?" The words died when she lifted it out. A sleeveless chemise-like garment.

The man had a rakish smile. "It's lingerie. All the rage in Paris."

Her brow furrowed. "What do I wear it over?"

"It's for the bedchambers." His voice fell lower in a husky quality.

"For the bedch - ?" Her mouth snapped shut as it dawned. Then she frowned at him. "You said consummation is meant to be done naked."

A positively wicked smile spread his lips. "It is."

"Then why did you buy this? That makes no sense." She dropped it in the box and cocked an eyebrow.

"Men are visual creatures."

She leaned toward him, one hand on the bed, and her chemise fell off her shoulder. "Is that so?" she purred.

He grunted and pressed back against the pillows, his eyes flicking to her bare shoulder and then locking on her lips.

"I suppose you want me to wear this for you?" She followed him back.

His throat convulsed in a hard swallow. "Y - " He cleared his throat. "Yes." Then he seemed to remember himself and his face grew stern. "Should I buy you something, I expect it not to be wasted."

With a giggle, she sat back and swatted his arm. "You're no fun at playing!"

The man blinked and looked slightly panicked as she set aside the box and lace. "I thought you're going to put it on."

"I was, but you're a little cranky. Perhaps tomorrow night." She smiled. Then she laid down and backed up to be spooned.

He growled and grumbled as he laid down and draped a hand over the babe. "I suppose you find pleasure in the fact that I'm uncomfortable," he snapped.

A smile tugged and she reached behind and held, eliciting a groan from him. "Poor baby, I'll let you sleep so you feel better."

In the blink of an eye, a sound swat hit her bottom and he whirled her to face him. "Saucy brat," he growled and his hand dove under the nightgown as his mouth crushed down on hers. "Do not sass me, woman."

Her hand fisted in his hair and the other crushed a handful of sheets as she gasped. "Are you going to take me?"

"No, minx." His chest vibrated againt hers and he nipped her lip. "It would hurt yet." His mouth trailed down to her neck.

She sighed and squirmed in restlessness. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"That's why I won't take you yet. Let me see you in only jewels." He tugged off her nightgown without waiting for a reply. And created a beautiful distraction.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: One of the readers had a question about the 'lady love' conversation. Tanya was saying that because he found her attractive and wanted to be intimate, she called herself his lady love. He argued that didn't qualify as a lady love but a mistress (meaning he saw the title of 'lady love' more appropriate for a woman held more dear than a mistress). She, however, pointed out that men rarely put themselves in harm's way for a mistress but he did when rescuing her - in other words, she knows he cares even though he'll never love her as a wife. He's made it clear that love isn't an option, but conceding to 'lady love' is his way of telling her that she holds a dear place in his heart. Could he be leading up to professing love? ;)**

 **BTW, I put up a poll to see if there's an interest in my Jason/Emma series and Mark/Tanya story if I turned them into ebooks for a small price. I'm seriously thinking of starting a blog (don't know about what yet) to be my main income because I love writing so much and interacting with followers (I hope they'd all be as nice as you all!). Maybe the ebooks would be the start of an author career. :) So, stop by my author page to vote in the poll. Please 1 vote per reader. Thanks!**

* * *

Mark walked into the library the next morning, his face serious. She set the book aside and swung her legs down to make room for him on the settee. "This came in the post for you." He held out a letter. "It's from America."

"I don't know anyone in America." She frowned and took the letter.

"Except your grandparents."

She smiled. "After all these years? I doubt it. Besides, how would they have found out where I am now?" Slipping a finger under the seal, she opened it.

"Our marriage would've been announced in the papers."

Her eyes flew to him. "Even so, why do you look upset?" He simply shook his head, so she read the letter while he stood there waiting.

 _Our dearest granddaughter,_

 _We heard of your father's passing. You may not even know about us, but we're your mother's parents here in Colorado. How we've worried about you over the years. Your father denied us into your life - and he had his reasons, but you're a grown woman now and can make your own choices. Your grandfather tracked you to here and learned of dreadful tales of the heinous Engishman who bought you. We're coming for you. No matter what happened, we're coming to this address and will find you from there. Grandfather has gathered all the money and we'll come free you. We love you._

 _Grandfather and Grandmother_

She swallowed hard and folded the letter. "I never thought I mattered to anyone while growing up." Offering him the letter, she took the handkerchief he offered.

He pulled his spectacles from his breast pocket and read it. In silence, he tucked the spectacles away and handed her the letter.

"They'll like you once they find out the rumors aren't true."

The man didn't crack a smile. "Probably think I beat you and keep you in the barn." Humor didn't lighten his tone.

"What's wrong?"

Both of his hands propped on the cane and he seemed so aloof, as want to do when masking emotion. "Your living male relative did not give permission for the marriage."

A nervous laugh bubbled up. "We're already wed and the bondslave papers give you claim to me."

He didn't look convinced.

"Mark, once they see you're a good man and I love you, they won't have objection. Let me send them a letter - "

"It's dated three weeks ago," he grunted. "They'll be here in a few days." Then he turned and walked out, obviously worried about something.

Two days later, she had a bag of ice in hand to take to Mark in the library when someone knocked at the door. She opened it and blinked in surprise at a tall, lean old man and short, plump woman who wore odd dress.

The woman cried out and the man stared in horror at her belly.

"What has he done?!" The old man roared in a deep voice with a heavy accent.

Mark shot out of the library on his cane at an impressive speed. "Who are you?"

The man flew past her and slammed Mark against the wall, a hand crushing his throat and a blade to his vitals. "Take her and run!" the old man roared, ignoring Mark clawing at his arm as the man turned his face red with pressure.

"Stop it!" She ran over and shoved the man to make him lose his balance.

Mark dropped to the floor, gasping in air.

She dropped beside him and glared up at the man. "I assume you're my grandfather?"

"Yes!" The man stood over with a deadly look in his eye. "I kill him."

"No! This is my husband!" She set a protective hand on Mark's back as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Where is Debonairo?! I kill him!"

"This is him, and he's a good man!" She flung out a hand when he stepped toward Mark.

"The baby - "

"Is not his. There was a robbery at Papa's house. Mark married me a couple months ago."

"Then I kill _him_!" He retrieved Mark's cane and brushed off his suit coat. "Sorry." He held out his hand.

Mark shook it. "REmind me to never upset your granddaughter lest she sic you on me."

The old man clapped Mark on the back. "You English are a weak breed. I make you a man before we leave."

"Oh, I can't wait," Mark said dryly.

Then Grandfather nearly crushed her in a hug. "You need more food from earth for baby - you are too little."

"Mark is a doctor and is seeing to us."

"I'm medicine man. I not lose a person in seventeen years." He eyed Mark. "I teach you my medicine too," he ordered and went to the old woman.

Mark leaned over and whispered, "I think I understand now why people don't like their in-laws."

"Oh, he just wants to man you up."

His mouth fell open.

She smiled and patted his arm before going over to meet her grandmother.

"She not speak much English," her grandfather said at dinner about grandmother. Then he glanced at her plate and piled on more food.

"No, I'm fine, Grandfather."

"You have two to feed. Eat."

Grandmother patted her hand and nodded at her plate.

"One Who Limps - " Grandfather turned to Mark.

"Mark," he corrected.

"English names no good."

"Grandfather," she sighed, "please."

He eyed her. "Your name Brave Sunshine."

She looked to Mark for help.

"Sir - "

"One Who Killed Bear," Grandfather corrected.

"Tanya prefers her Christian name be used," Mark said in a firm tone.

"You English and need to Christianize 'heathens.' My granddaughter no heathen!"

"I never said she was," Mark replied, gritting his teeth.

"You argue with an elder?" Even she wanted to duck from the glare Grandfather gave Mark.

Mark didn't flinch but met his glare in challenge. "In my house, you will respect my wife's wishes." It was a command that even the King might not have the courage to disobey.

"You deny her heritage," the older man growled.

"I do nothing of the sort," Mark snapped. "She asked to be called 'Tanya' and I'm seeing that her request is honored."

"Mark," she said softly.

He held up a hand to silence her, so unlike even his gruffest manner. Mark must be terribly angry.

Grandfather stood and walked out, Grandmother following behind in confusion.

Mark's shoulders sagged in defeat. She walked over and pressed his shoulder until he scooted the chair back. Then she sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you for standing up for me."

"He disapproves of me," he grunted.

When dinner was cleared, he took her into the library when Grandfather's voice could be heard booming in temper from the bedchambers upstairs. A pile of children's books sat on the settee tied with a big red ribbon.

"Oh, Mark!" Her hands flew to her mouth. "You got books for the baby?! Whenever did you leave to get them?

"Pick one out to read the babe for a bedtime story."

Her eyes flew to him and she cupped her belly. "You want to read him a story?" Her heart melted and she hurried over to the pile. "A Christmas Carole! It looks just like the copy I had when I was a girl!" She snatched up the leather bound book and clutched it to her chest. "Read this one, Mark."

He chuckled and limped over. "What about it is so special?"

She looked down at the book and stroked the worn leather, her smile fading. "Mama bought it for me while with child. She died giving birth to me. It was the only Christmas present I ever had from her. In the back, she wrote an inscription under the flap. I pretended that it was her secret note to me. When I was ten, there was no food for four days. There was nothing left in the house of worth to sell...except my book." She swallowed back the tears. "I got sick because I cried so much for two weeks."

He opened the book and pulled back the corner of the flap.

 _Merry Christmas, Baby Hartwig._

 _Love,  
_ _Mama  
_ _December 1836_

"You had an unusual last name. Given the date, I figured 'baby' must be you," he said, his voice quiet. "I like to browse bookshops and found this on my trip to Paris a couple weeks ago."

She burst into tears and latched on when he pulled her into his arms. Once the tears calmed, he set an arm around her waist. "Let's go to the privacy of our room and read." He scooped up the books.

"I think not."

She spun around. Grandfather glared at Mark from the doorway.

Mark heaved a weary sigh. "I supposed you're going to tell me why."

"Who you ask permission to marry her?" He marched in.

"Her father asked me to wed her," he replied tightly. His posture tensed considerably.

"Who else?"

"I didn't need to ask anyone else," he answered calmly, but his hand fisted around the head of the cane. Maybe this is what Mark had been worried about since he'd read their letter.

"You not ask her male relatives and friends?" He scowled.

"Grandfather, things don't work like that in England. Papa approved - "

"He had sense of a flea." He looked Mark up and down. "He gave you a weak, crippled husband."

"Grandfather!" She gasped in horror and took Mark's hand. "He's a good man who got hurt saving me from ruffians! Which brings us to the question of why men are after me to have Spanish jewels that I assume were Mama's?!"

He snorted. "Your father probably stole them." Then he eyed Mark again. "You are highly regarded by your people?"

"I don't have much use for socializing," he stated, wisely sidestepping that issue.

Grandfather spun to his wife in the doorway. "He's not a respected man! He - " Then he whirled around with wide eyes. "You one who murdered wife!"

Anger surged at the disrespect and injustice to Mark all day. "Stop it! He did no such thing! If you want to see me, you will respect my husband. He's done nothing to harm me! He's done far more for me than any other soul on this earth! I owe him my life many times over, and I'd think you'd be grateful too! I love him. I'm sorry you don't approve, but it's my life and _I_ approve of him."

"You _love_ this Englishman?" he spat and pointed at Mark.

"Yes." She raised her chin.

"I hate English. They come and try - "

"Then you hate me, for I'm half English."

Grandfather closed his mouth and looked at her sadly.

"Mark is not responsible for Papa's sins."

"No, but all Englishmen are same. You come home with us."

She stepped back against Mark's chest. "No."

He stormed over, but Mark stepped in front of her. "I think it's been a long day and everyone needs to go to bed."

Grandfather glared at him. "You. You buy her like animal and pretend to have _marriage_?!"

Mark's knuckles whitened on the head of his cane. "I paid to keep her and the babe from a nightmare worse than anything you or I could imagine!" he roared, the veins in his neck bulging as he finally exploded. "She may leave if it is _her_ wish!" He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes fierce. Even in a temper, he would let her go, though.

She shook her head.

He turned back to Grandfather. "She's given her answer," he growled. "I'm sorry to be such a disappointment to you, but I keep her safe, fed, sheltered and clothed, and I certainly don't beat her. Beyond that, your only concern is her happiness. If staying makes her happy, she is not leaving this house."

The two men glared at each other. She exchanged a worried glance with Grandmother. Taking a step beside Mark, she took his hand and wrapped her other hand around his arm to be close. "He's a good, intelligent man, Grandfather. He's acknowledging the babe as his. You have no basis to hate him other than because you think he's another Englishman taking me away like how Papa took Mama."

His old milky eyes teared. "He took our babe and killed her," he said in a thick voice. "Then he kept you away many moons. I won't let another take my family to his civilization for a 'better life.' You come home with us. We find you good man from tribe to marry."

"But I want to stay! This is the world I grew up in. This is what I know - "

"We teach you. Chippewa is your blood - "

"And so is the English," Mark cut in. "It doesn't have to be one or the other."

He glare at Mark.

"I won't conceal her heritage like her mother was forced to do. She is as much a part of your world as she is mine. If she wants to run around with her hair colored blue or in man's clothes, she is free to do so. But she does it because that's what she wants, not what she's told she has to do."

Grandfather looked at her. "Tomorrow we teach you about your people. Then you'll want to come home." He kissed her cheek and walked out.

Grandmother came over and said something in another language. She pulled Mark's shirt until he bent down. Then she cupped his face and began a song chant. He glanced over at her in question and straightened when Grandmother finished. Then Grandmother held out a hand. He took it, but the woman turned it over palm up and traced her finger on his forearm dot-by-dot.

She broke between them and shook her head.

"What does she want?" Mark set a hand on her back.

Looking over her shoulders, she met his eyes. "Papa had three circular burn scars on his forearm. I asked him as a child what happened, and he said that a man must pass tests to show he's worthy of marriage. One was hot coals set along the arm to see how much pain he'd endure to protect his wife. He said he left with Mama after that first test. I never believed him that it was true."

His blue eyes held hers for a moment. "Do you want me to do it?"

"No!"

"Would it mean something for your Grandfather to approve?"

Her heart twisted. "You'd do that for me?"

His expression hardened. "To get him to shut up, of course," he grunted.

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "I don't want you to do that for me."

"See if he even can." Grandfather's voice cut into the private moment.

Turning, she ground her teeth. "He's not an animal to perform for you."

"And you're not animal to be bought."

She threw up her arms. "I give up!"

"We will discuss these tests tomorrow," Mark declared.

In bed, she punched the pillow in a fit to fluff it. "I can't believe you're being this stupid."

He pulled down the sheets and got in bed. "There's no true harm - "

"No harm?! He's talking of burning you and God knows what else!"

"I promise not to cry. Does that help?" The man had a smirk as he laid on his back.

"Marcus Reynold Charles whatever-the-hell-your-name-is, you make me insane! I - "

He grinned up at her. "I have every intention of doing so tonight."

"No. Not with them in the house." She caught him studying her. "What?"

"You must look like your mother. You somewhat look like your grandfather, so I assume your mother looked like him too. I see the features now that Brigands said are unique to your heritage. Come lie with me." He tugged up her chemise.

Discarding the clothing, she flushed, painfully aware of the physical differences now with family here.

He held out his hand when she hesitated. "Come here, beautiful."

"I'm not beautiful." She let him pull her down.

"But if I said you were gorgeous - "

"I'd think you feverish again," she finished and moved to lay her head on his shoulder. But his wet, hot mouth captured her breast. A gasp and her hands grabbed his shoulders to keep from collapsing.

"You're so sensitive, my little minx," he rumbled deep in his chest. "I'll show you pleasures that won't wake the house."

While panting in the afterglow minutes later, she smiled as he curled up on his side behind her and pulled her close.

"May I see if we'll fit? Your body will be most ready when pleasured like this. I won't do anything more tonight," he whispered in her ear.

She nodded, not frightened like this. With him. His lips pressed against her neck and his hand continued to weave magic as he rolled her onto her back. He pulled pillows behind to recline her, easing the weight of the babe on her insides. Then he gave a sound kiss to her lips before shifting to keep his weight off the babe. "Tell me if you get frightened or it hurts." His eyes locked with hers as he nudged her thighs apart. He broke eye contact for a split moment when he leaned down and kissed her belly.

There was so much tenderness. So much safety. So much...love. Her hands skimmed up to rest on his thick upper arms that flexed holding his weight off. It took him a moment to figure out how to position for his poor knee, but he didn't give up. His face stained red with embarrassment, making this all the more precious. "Mark, I don't care how you must be for your knee to hold you. I love you."

His heart visibly melted in his eyes. "Tanya," he whispered and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I - "

The moment he leaned down and kissed, his manhood pressed. A sharp, small pain of resistance.

Her eyes shot open. The man. Papa's kitchen. The cold floor pressed into her back. Pain. A scream of horror ripped out.

He scrambled back, her eyes blank yet frightened and chest heaving. "Tanya, it's just me."

At the flip of a switch, she was quiet again and pulled the sheets up over her chest. Unnervingly quiet and calm as she stared at the wall, curling up into herself inside. This was the first true glance of the woman who had been violated and beaten within an inch of her life.

He wasn't the one to comfort a woman - he was the most brash man in England.

"Mark?" Her hands shook and voice trembled.

Easing onto the bed beside her, he moved slow so as not to frighten her.

"What happened?"

"I think you had a flashback."

"A what?" Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

"The memories felt real again." He laid down next to her, keeping a space in between so she'd feel safe.

She rolled toward him, draping an arm across his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. "Make me feel safe again," she sniffled.

His arm wrapped around her, something in his heart tugging as it hadn't in years. "You're safe, my Tanya," he whispered.

He watched her sleep in the early morning light. She'd woken up screaming from a nightmare of the assault during the night, and it'd been impossible to go back to sleep. She looked so peaceful and beautiful here in his bed where he could keep away danger...except for the memories that haunted her.

When she woke up, she went about getting ready for the day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was unnerving. When she walked toward the door, he grabbed his cane and followed. "Tanya?"

The woman turned with a smile. "Hm?"

"Your behavior this morning...I can't help but be concerned why you're so composed." He stopped toe to toe with her and set a hand on her belly.

With a shrug, she met his eyes. "Society says I made it up. Going around sobbing and making a scene would behoove me? I learned fast that if the world believes something didn't happen, it's best to act like something didn't happen. You object?" She cocked her head.

"Yes, I object!" His temper shot through the roof. "Pretending it didn't happen exacerbates the trauma, thereby inflicting more self-imposed nightmares!"

She cocked an eyebrow and rested her hands atop her belly. "Self-imposed? My, you sound like a highbred lord. And what is responsible for my self-imposed nightmares? Female wiles, Marquess? Because it certainly couldn't be a man responsible."

He pursed his lips. "Never have I said you aren't right in your fears." Clenching his teeth when she tilted her head up to him in challenge, he scowled. No fear or accusation shadowed in her eyes. "You aim to redirect my attention to that of anger in an attempt to end a topic you do not wish to discuss."

A smile bloomed on her lips. "Guilty." Then that lovely smile melted away and her eyes dropped to the floor. "I'll uphold my end of the agreement, Mark. I just need a couple days," she whispered and turned to grab the doorknob.

Such a beautiful creature didn't deserve to shoulder such horrors, much less be forced to lock them inside so suffer their tortures alone. Rage over the injustice surged and he slammed a hand against the door to keep it closed. "I don't give a damn about the contract!" The vehemence startled even himself.

Someone knocked. "Everything alright?" Her grandfather called.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath and closed his eyes. "You deal with him. I've had enough of his shit yesterday." He limped to the closet for a pair of fresh pants. In the haste to get to her, he'd left the bed without a stitch of clothing.

She opened the door. "Everything's fine."

"I heard that snooty purebred yell at you." He pushed into the room.

"He's not snooty and we're fine. You've been henpecking him since you arrived - "

"Where's the coward?"

He stepped out in pants and his shirt still unbuttoned, purposefully leaving the cane in the closet to appear less weak to this man who would fight tooth and nail to take Tanya away from him.

The older man looked him up and down in disapproval. "I figured out my two tasks for you, Englishman. First, you will prove that you will protect her at all costs - "

"He has!" Tanya stepped in the way, her posture so fierce. "His knee was ruined because he rescued me!"

Her grandfather held up a hand to silence her. "You will take a bullet - "

"What?" Tanya screeched.

"You will prove yourself now." Three men - all too familiar from the kidnapping - entered the room with ropes.

He grabbed Tanya and shoved her in the closet. "Lock it!"

She dove for the latch and flipped it just in time.

"The jewels, Tanya!" her grandfather roared, his broken accent gone.

A loud crunch and Mark screamed in pain.

"The jewels or we break his other leg!" Grandfather yelled. Another grunt of pain from Mark.

"I don't know!" she cried and searched for any kind of weapon in the dark to help Mark.

"Tanya, a blade to the belly is a terrible way to die. Come out and tell us!"

"No, Tanya!" Mark was loudly silenced.

Something long and hard. Mark's cane. She grabbed it and opened the door.

Mark was held down on his knees, his eye already swelling and lip bleeding. Two men held Mark's arms, one grabbing a fistful of Mark's hair and yanked his head back as Grandfather slammed a fist into his jaw. Grandfather pulled out a knife.

"Stop!" The scream ripped out so loud it hurt.

All eyes flew to her.

"Tanya, in the closet," Mark gasped weakly. The men tossed him aside.

Mark somehow scrambled to his feet toward Grandfather, who advanced toward her. She screamed when another large man shot into the room. Mark tackled Grandfather, and this man tackled one of the other thugs, to her shock. They took down and tied the third man.

The stranger grinned and slapped Mark on the back. "My brother," he nodded to her grandfather. Then he looked at her. "Tanya?"

She stared at the older man - his eyes looked exactly like hers. They must be Mama's eyes.

"I'm One Who Kill Tiger - I'm grandfather."

Mark stared, seeming shocked.

She took a step closer, studying his wrinkled face and black hair. "What did Papa say when he asked to marry Mama?" Her voice shook.

The man held her eyes and pain flashed across his face. "That he'd never take her away." He held out his hand. "Granddaughter." Tears shimmered in his eyes. "We've looked for you for three decades." He stepped aside as she took his hand. "This is your grandmother."

An older woman stepped into the room. Time had done little to her beauty and grace. The woman held open her arms. "We've waited so long so long to meet you." She gracefully came over in a simple maroon dress and hugged.

She clung to the woman - the only piece of Mama she'd ever known. "You look like Mama?" Tears flowed freely.

"The spitting image," her new grandfather said as he helped Mark to his feet. "I'm the medicine man back home. Let's see to that black eye."

Letting go of Grandmama, she hurried over as Mark leaned on Grandfather to limp to bed. "They hurt your knee! Oh, Mark, you must stop being so heroic." She helped Grandfather ease him onto the bed.

"I like your family better already." Mark groaned as he sat.

"My brother," Grandfather said and by happy coincidence made a well-calculated trip over the liar, "is a con artist. I see he beat us here." He scowled at the man as Grandmama came over with a medical bag. "I am the medicine man in our tribe, but I have learned the white man's ways too." He manipulated Mark's knee as she tended to his eye. "You're the one who bought my granddaughter?"

"Her father found himself in a disagreeable situation. Coin was needed."

Bless his heart for not disgracing Papa and embarrassing her by admitting the truth.

"Enough coin for a bank?" Grandfather paused and gave Mark a look.

Mark held Grandfather's eyes. "In exchange for bondslave papers taken from another man after we were already wed. Tanya consented and is free to leave if ever she chooses without fear of me invoking the bondslave order."

"And the baby is yours?"

"She walked in on a robbery before we were to be married." Mark neither hesitated nor flinched.

"You still took her?" Grandfather looked at Mark in such an odd manner.

Mark's shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. "You speak of her as if a horse."

Grandfather smiled. "You regret being made to trade coin for a wife?"

"I regret, sir," Mark said with sternness, "that she is made to forever wonder if I took her to keep my word to an old man."

"Is there any other reason why you would trade such great coin for her?" Grandfather gave him the most intense look. It was as if she and Grandmama weren't even in the room.

Her heart beat faster. Surely Mr. Manchester wasn't correct that Mark had done it for love.

"For what other reason would a man trade a lifetime's worth of fortune for a woman?" Mark's gaze didn't waiver.

She swallowed down the disappointment, keeping her eyes locked on Mark's split lip even as his gaze burned.

"It is that blackguard who harmed her." Mark stood as the man in ropes struggled to free himself. He hauled the man up by his collar. "Look away, Tanya." Then his fist snapped back the man's head.

The force of his anger made her jump. She turned away as another punch made the evil man gasp in pain.

"If you ever come near her again, I vow I will kill you," Mark hissed in a low whisper obviously not intended to be overheard. Another crunch.

The man collapsed into an unconscious heap and Mark limped to the bed again, shaking out his hand.

"You could be arrested for battery," Grandfather said, although a smile lurked on his face.

Mark gave Grandfather a leveling look. "I tripped. My fist so happened to meet his face."

"Ah. Come, I have a poultice for that knee."

It was pleasing to see Mark and Grandfather get along quite well over breakfast after the sheriff arrested the thieves. They even went as far as sharing medical knowledge.

Rather than frowning upon the ways of the 'savages,' as most would think of Grandfather's ways, Mark seemed quite awed. "Your women - they do not get childbed fever?"

"No, however, infant death rates are high, which could be due to our women birthing on their own in the woods."

Mark's eyebrows shot up. "A woman births alone? Should something go wrong, what is she to do? Surely there are at least women near to aid?"

Grandfather shook his head.

He set a hand over hers on the table, but his eyes remained on Grandfather. "A physician will be present when my wife gives birth to ensure her health, as well as the babe's. She may have whomever present she chooses and otherwise follow your birthing traditions, if she wishes. Just to be clear."

A smile greeted Mark's words. "Your methods are odd compared to what I have learned of the white man. I have asked of your history. You have delivered more than two hundred infants with far less than fifty deaths. Those numbers are unheard of. You will deliver my great-grandchild."

"I am without a license. I cannot," he said quietly.

"Ahem." The men looked at her. "I am so glad that you are the ones giving birth, deciding what shall happen."

"Forgive us." Mark raised her hand to his lips. "We simply wish to see you and the babe safe. We shall have more appropriate conversation."

After dinner on the way to the drawing room, he pulled her aside. "I meant no disrespect at dinner, as if discussing the breeding of a mare. Childbirth can be dangerous, and I got caught up in the conversation of the safety measures he knows."

She cracked a smile. "Are you seeking to not fall out of my favor?"

"I'm your husband and have final say. I do not need to be in your favor," he growled. Then his arm slipped around her waist and he stepped closer.

Biting her lip to hide the smile, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Then why are you still here?"

"To not fall out of your favor, my lady love," he said deep in his chest, the words quiet and intimate. His left hand not relying on the cane to support him let go of her waist to offer his arm.

Letting the smile free, she accepted the escort.

"It seems your grandfather approves of your husband." Grandmama leaned over and said as they had tea while the men drank Scotch near the fire where Mark propped up his leg.

Happiness bubbled up. "I've never seen Mark talk so much. I think he's having fun picking Grandfather's medical knowledge. When a hand laid over her arm, she turned her head.

"Is he good to you?" Grandmama asked seriously.

"Oh goodness, he treats me like a queen." Her cheeks flushed and she took a sip of hot cocoa.

"As a man should. You seem fond of him," she said over the rim of her cup.

The flush burned hotter. "He is my husband."

"Perhaps that's it," Grandmama said with a knowing smile. "I didn't have an arranged marriage. I met your grandfather when we were children living in neighboring tribes. He was promised to another, as was I, but we were in love. My parents turned me out for shaming them, but his tribe welcomed the wife of the young medicine man. I promised to never force a marriage on your mother."

"But you wish you had." The regret in Grandmama's voice flowed so thick.

She sighed. "Your mother was in love. We weren't impressed with your father but wanted her happy. Your grandfather spent years tracking your mother, perfectly livid when your father took her away." Her eyes teared, but she remained tall and regal, as if never displaying too much vulnerability. "We found them three days after you were born - after your mother died. We begged to meet you, but your father ran with you again. Your grandfather has spent the better half of his life trying to find you."

The men's laughter cut in and Grandfather looked over. "He's proud of you, Granddaughter."

"For what?" She blinked in surprise.

"For a child left to raise herself, you've obviously done well. Your husband does not seem like a man whose respect is easily won, much less retained." Grandfather raised his glass to Mark, whose embarrassment only showed as far as slightly stained cheeks.

"He adores you," Grandmama said when the men began talking together again.

"We barely know each other - "

She patted her hand. "That too will change with time."

After a bit, Mark said, "Come, Tanya, it's time to get you to bed. I lost track of time." He pushed himself to his feet and took the cane that Grandfather offered.

"I'm fine." She glanced at the clock. Half past ten.

"it's been a long day and the babe's tired. You must get your rest." He limped over.

She cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know if the babe's tired?" But she took his hand all the same.

"A father knows." Then he turned to Grandfather. "The butler has left for the evening. If I may be so rude as to ask you to take your suitcases upstairs...I would not be much help." He gestured toward his swollen knee and his cheeks stained with embarrassment. "Then I shall return and see that you're adequately settled."

"Of course. We can see ourselves to our rooms, if you'll point us in the right direction." Grandfather stepped forward. "Goodnight." He shook Mark's hand. Then he turned and engulfed her in a hug, his height nearly matching Mark's but his breadth much leaner. "Goodnight, Granddaughter. We love you." He pressed a kiss to her temple.

Then Grandmama gave Mark a hug and then her. "It's so good to finally have you back. I love you."

When they let go, she brushed at her eyes.

"Tanya?" Mark set a hand on her back and handed over a handkerchief.

She hiccupped, the emotions so unexpected and overwhelming that the tears couldn't be stopped. "The last time anyone said 'I love you,' it...was a teacher when I was six years...old." She gasped in a huge breath to try to calm the sobs.

"We have always loved you." They wrapped her in a hug again.

When they let go, Mark propped the cane against the settee and wrapped both arms around.

"We'll go get our bags," Grandfather whispered to Mark and took Grandmama out.

Mark cradled her head against his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat so comforting. "Don't cry," he whispered and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Don't cry, my lady love." He took the handkerchief himself and dabbed at the tears with more tenderness than a gruff man like him should possess. Fresh tears fell. He kissed each one away, and his lips trailed down to hers.

It was a kiss of tenderness and safety and passion.

When he broke the kiss, his chest heaved as much as hers. Those blue eyes dilated with lust and his hands still cupped her face. "Come to bed without anything between our bodies. I won't consummate tonight, but let me hold my wife as a man is meant to."

Oh dear heaven, that was so romantic. Of course he only meant it in a physical way, but it still made the knees weak. With a nod, she took a steadying breath and untangled her arms from around his waist. "Do you know what I miss?"

He grunted and picked up the cane.

"Not having a belly in the way when I hug you."

His head whipped to her, his eyes surprised and a bit wide like he didn't know what to do with that comment. But he took a step to her side and wrapped his arms around in a hug that offered closer contact.

A smile replaced the tears and she hugged him tight.

He stepped away a second later and cleared his throat. "I shall not often indulge in such female wiles," he grunted.

She grinned. That was the biggest lie ever. "Yes, Mark."

"Don't look at me like that, woman."

"No, Mark." She had to look away and cover her mouth to hide the smile.

"Don't 'Yes, Mark' and 'No, Mark' me, woman!"

Setting her hands on his chest, she leaned closer until he bent down. Then she whispered in his ear, "Should I call you 'master' instead?" Then her tongue flicked over his earlobe.

He shuddered and hissed in a breath, swallowing hard as he straightened and his heart beat fast through his shirt. "You are so damn lucky I'm crippled, or you could be explaining to your grandparents tomorrow why I swept you upstairs in my arms and didn't return." The man growled the words through clenched teeth.

Her eyes darted down to where his pantaloons strained. "I should say you probably don't want to return tonight, least you embarrass yourself. Then _you_ shall be explaining _yourself_ , husband." Then she turned to go and threw a smile over her shoulder.

He leaned forward and gave a sound swat padded well through the skirts. "Get upstairs, minx. I shan't be patient." Then he swept past with impressive speed for his injury.

With a final goodnight to the grandparents, she caught up to Mark on the stairs. It took him a great deal of effort between the railing and cane to haul himself along, bless his heart. The weight of his massive frame surely didn't help his knee.

She came up a couple steps behind him on the second set of stairs after Grandfather and Grandmama deviated down the hall to their rooms. "Let me know if you need more motivation to get to the bedchamber."

He snorted. "I'm making good time, wench. Get in front - I've told you to not go up behind me in case I fall." The man stopped and held the railing with one hand while taking her hand with his other to help her come around.

She turned and looked at him from the step above. "You're a worry wart."

His jaw dropped. "I am not!"

"You are." She grinned. "I don't know that I've ever heard of any other man making his pregnant wife go up the steps before him so he can catch her." Then she turned and headed up and waited at the top. It took the poor man almost a half minute to catch up.

"Go! I'm not an old man who needs a nanny following," he snapped.

Resting her hands on her belly, she kept a straight face and shrugged. "I thought you might want me to wait so you can take my clothes off."

The man stopped dead in his tracks and stared, completely speechless.

Her cheeks burned the longer the silence dragged on. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"

He blinked. "No, I...you just surprised me. I expected you to be shy and perhaps a bit frightened."

She cocked her head. "Should I be frightened? You said we won't consummate."

He held her eyes with a slightly arrogant expression. "You seem to have a knack for rendering me speechless." The man offered his arm. "Not a quality I'm sure I like, Marchioness."

"Oh, I'm Marchioness now, am I?" She took his arm and continued walking with him. "I should say it does you good to have someone keep you off kilter. Could it be, Marquess, that you don't like it because I'm..." she gasped in mock surprise and widened her eyes at him "a woman."

His lips pursed, clearly not amused. "Man or woman, it does not agree with me. And it does even less so from a wife whom already exhibits little obedience."

She smiled. "You've said so yourself that a meek wife would bore you. Every time you huff and puff, should I cower and hide?"

"Life would be damn easier if you did," he huffed.

Weeks ago that comment would've been taken to heart, but now it only made her smile from beneath her lashes. "I shall always be most obedient in the bedchamber and let you ravish me at any hour of the day."

The man stopped in the doorway, the shock apparent on his face. Then he slammed the door closed. "Insolent wench! Turn so that I can take off your clothes and teach you a lesson!"

She giggled and presented her back for him to loosen the ties. "I promise to be a good woman and take my deserved punishment."

He jerked the ties, loosening them all at once and likely tearing a bit of the fabric too. Then he caught her arm and spun her around, a slight smile tugging at his lips just a hairs breath from hers. "Your punishment shall be pleasure of degrees you are not yet aware exist," he rumbled deep in his chest. Then his smile faded in all seriousness. "Never shall I punish with pain or fear."

Reaching up, she cupped his face and searched his eyes. "I know," she whispered. She let the undergarments slide to the floor to stand before him without shame.

His eyes reflected so raw what he drank in - a creature of beauty and worth everything to protect. And it was there in his eyes for the first time, if only for a moment...love.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Guests, Awed, Fanofyours and Old Soul of Wonderland!**

 **Thanks for the responses about a self-published ebook for this or the Jason/Emma series. Only five readers contracted me expressing interest. After looking into it, I wouldn't break out even with 5 sales with the cost to create an ebook - front cover, editor and copyright filing fees. Being a purchased product, I wouldn't feel right not hiring an editor to give readers the best possible product - I'm so close to content that sometimes I read what I know it should say rather than what it actually says (autocorrect and minor consistency errors). Editor friends would do it for cheap, but it's still an expense. Unfortunately, right now I'm not in a position to afford to not recoup ebook publishing expense. But I'm excited that some readers like the story(ies) enough to want an ebook! :) Maybe in the future it'll work.**

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He sat at the desk with a pile of work to do to transfer over the bank. And not gotten a damn thing done the past hour.

Tanya sat at the settee half way across his office and read a medical textbook. She seemed absorbed in her studies, absently stroking her seven-month swollen belly. Dear god, that stroking brought back memories of last night. Her hands were so soft, her touch so shy and gentle... Those long brown tresses hung loose over her shoulders this morning, with a single clip sweeping it back from her face at the back of her head. The locks were as silky as they looked, having gained a beautiful shine over the months as her nutrition improved. The deformity of her breast was apparent in her new blue dress, but it brought great pleasure that she didn't wear the prosthesis around him. Her eyes flicked up and she smiled as she turned a page. Then she went back to reading. Dear god, she was exquisite.

Propping his chin in hand, he leaned on the chair armrest to watch. She had a strength and yet gentleness about her. How strange it was to have a wife who - more than once - had rushed to danger to rescue him, using brains for what she lacked in brawn. This little slip of a woman had far more bravery and gumption than any man he'd ever met. Sometimes she left him speechless with her wit. Society said that women should be meek, obedient and most definitely dependent on a man for everything. Anna had been the ideal image of an upper class woman. Yet after having tasted Tanya's spirit, it'd be impossible to go back. She had a raging thirst for knowledge, and if properly educated, would likely surpass his own intellect. She had devotion that even the threat of death hadn't been able to waiver. And her wit and saucy tongue were perfection against his harsh demeanor.

She wiggled her nose and sniffled as if a sneeze threatened. A smile tugged at never having witnessed her sneeze. Decorum dictated that it be a delicate little noise. Good god, he shouldn't be this curious to see how she would sneeze.

"Achoo!"

It wasn't a delicate sneeze but neither a sneeze as violent as a man's.

Hiccup.

No, it couldn't possibly be...

She sneezed and then hiccupped again. "Excuse me." Then she went back to reading.

She did - she hiccupped when she sneezed. Somehow something so unexpected from her was expected. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth to smother a laugh. God, she was adorable. "God bless you."

But she didn't seem to hear. Her eyebrows rose at something she read on the page. Then she turned the page, seeming quite absorbed in the reading. Her cheeks burned red and she slammed the book shut with huge eyes. She must've reached the male anatomy section.

"Anything wrong?" Biting his lip held back the smile.

Her whole face burned. "No," she squeaked.

"What were you reading?" He grabbed the cane and pushed himself up to limp over. It was hard to resist teasing the little minx.

"Nothing."

"Do you have questions?" He eased onto the settee beside her. Her shyness was endearing, but his Tanya would be brave enough to ask what other women wouldn't.

Nibbling her lip, she glanced down at his lap for a split instant and then met his eyes. "If we do consummate, won't you be hitting the babe?"

He looked away. She had such innocence and didn't need more hardship. It's be better for her to not know consummation wouldn't be possible without surgery. Hopefully the birth would progress safely and not require a cesarian section, only surgery to help her fit the babe through. Cutting that scar tissue would also then make consummation possible.

"Mark?"

Clearing his throat, he looked up. "I've been thinking, and with how fragile the pregnancy has been, it'd be best to not consummate before the birth."

That look of shame from months ago came back as she looked away. "You don't want...?"

"No." Taking her hands, he met her eyes. "It may not be safe for you and the babe. That is my reason."

Her hands tightened in his for a moment as she nodded. But she seemed to struggle with inner demons.

The woman needed some kind of reassurance of affection. Goddammit, he wanted to give it. "Stay here." Pushing himself to his feet, he went upstairs.

* * *

It took Mark several minutes to return. "Close your eyes." He limped across the room on his cane.

Closing her eyes, she frowned in confusion. He didn't seem angry or resentful at not being able to claim his marriage right. Neither did he seem glad of the excuse to not consummate. Something cold laid around her neck. Opening her eyes and looking down, she gasped. "Mark!" A strand of diamonds. "This must have cost a fortune!"

"Do you like it?" He sat.

"It's gorgeous!" She ran a hand over the necklace and looked at him. "Why?"

He scowled. "I need a reason to give my wife a gift?"

"No." A flush swept up. "Wretch, I can't deny it."

The man cracked a smile. "Good."

"But it's far too extravagant for me to where to the market or anywhere."

His eyebrow cocked. "Should my wife wish to wear diamonds to darn socks, so be it."

A giggle bubbled up. "You spoil me."

He growled. "Should I choose to bestow an occasional gift on my wife, it is to be accepted. And should said gifts occur on a monthly, weekly or daily occasion, it is my discretion to determine if it spoils my wife. I will not have a spoiled, entitled wife."

She smiled. "And bestowing emeralds and diamonds and books and lingerie upon me within days isn't spoiling?"

"Are you saying I'm incapable of determining if you're spoiled?" He gave a firm look.

"No, Mark." Happiness beamed as she stroked the gems.

"Then hush, woman." He leaned down and pulled out a stack of fine paper from under the settee. Then he retrieved a wooden box with a red ribbon and set it in her lap.

Untying the red velvet ribbon, she lifted the lid. Tears sprang at seeing the treasures inside.

"On the way out of town, I passed your house. The roof had caved in. I stopped in case there was anything you might value inside. Nothing caught my eye that seemed to be worth even sentimental value. But then I spotted a wall board in perfect alignment whereas the others weren't. The space of it seemed like something where only a child would hide treasures. I found this."

"Papa let me use Mama's tools when I was little. I broke some and damaged the brushes. I was so scared of getting in trouble that I hid them in the wall when I was six. I forget they were even there." With a sniffle, she stroked the brushes.

"I had them cleaned and the splintered wood repaired. The paintbrushes were so worn that they weren't even safe to use. I asked the carpenter to restore them to their original state. If you should like them refinished, I can ask Tim to drive them back into town - "

She threw her arms around his neck. "No, they're perfect," she said with a watery laugh and let go to run her fingers over the brushes and art tools. She stroked the mahogany box. "Where did you find a box to fit them?"

"I couldn't, so I had it made while on my trip." He gently shut it and turned the box over to an inscription on the back.

 _Merry Christmas, Tanya. May your mother be your guiding hand in this and in your life._

 _Your husband,_

 _Mark_

She looked up at him. "How did you know?"

"I found out that Brigands is quite the history man. He said that these are Chippewa art tools and it's quite rare for a young person to be given these tools. He surmised that your mother was probably so talented with art that she was appointed the tribe's storyteller to paint their history on tepees and such. If the men went into war, she would've been the one to paint the warriors, which is supposedly quite the honor."

Setting aside the box, she gave him a sound kiss. "Thank you," she whispered and rested her forehead against his. "These are the most wonderful gifts." Then she pushed her bulk up and hurried to the door. "Wait here."

She returned with papers clutched to her chest. "I know I'm not educated or very intelligent - "

He frowned. "You are intelligent - "

"I said 'very.' I know I'm intelligent." She cracked a smile.

A throaty laugh filled the air.

"But I think you're a gifted physician. You lit up when you did surgery. You'll be angry and probably shout and stomp and curse me, but I talked to the lawyers before your trial. It took them some time to look into if something was possible. This arrived yesterday. I want you to be happy, and there's not really anything I can give you."

His brow furrowed like perhaps he had arguement.

"It'll take some time and work, but should you wish for your license back, it's possible." She handed him the papers from the lawyers outlining the training and supervision he'd have to undergo to be relicensed, should the courts approve it.

The seconds ticked past as he stared down at the papers without a word.

"I know a proper wife is to look the other way and not, well..."

"Not pry into her husband's affairs and legal matters that are none of her business," he said in a hard tone without looking up.

Wrapping her arms over the babe, she drew a deep breath. Anger was expected. Looking past his black eye, bruised cheek and split lip, she searched his eyes when he looked up.

"I never thought I'd feel happy again. And you make me feel goddamn things I've never felt before. You make me happy." He growled the words.

A smile tugged. "I should hate to see what you're like when excited."

He shot forward, pressing her back against settee as his mouth captured hers in a kiss. One hand braced against the back of the settee to hold his weight off and the other cupped her belly. His hot breath panted across her lips, the rich, masculine scent intoxicating. Her heart skipped a beat as butterflies flitted. His shoulders felt so warm and strong under her hands. He was so masculine and beautiful. Even the chording of his neck and the smoothness of his jaw offered gentle strength and protection. "Kiss me," he whispered.

"I am," she whispered with hot cheeks and pulled back enough to look into his eyes.

"Like last night." Something in his gaze became vulnerable.

Last night had been full of blinding need to simply be his. "Last night, I would imagine, was not proper at all for a wife to behave so wantonly. I'm sure Anna never would've - "

"Made a man feel desired? Made his desire for his wife intensify?"

She blinked.

That black eyebrow cocked in a slightly aristocratic way. "You have no desire to kiss me like that again?"

"No, I just - "

"Then obey me, woman."

"Obey you?" Her eyebrows rose in challenge.

"I distinctly recall 'obey' in our vows. Should I say to kiss me in a way that requires me to take you to our chamber, you will do so."

"No."

"No?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I am not some employee to bend to your whims. If I should feel inclined to acquiesce, then I shall." Pressing her lips together held back a smile.

"You saucy wench," he gasped, his expression appalled. Then his brow furrowed. "As your husband, you will damn well do what I say - "

"Must I do it damn well too?"

He snorted trying to withhold a laugh and a smile leaked out for a moment. Then he composed himself into a scowl again and pushed himself back to sit, pulling her to her knees. A sound swat on the backside and then with his arms he lifted and turned her to recline across his lap. "That's for your insolence. Do I need to punish you again?"

With a giggle, she nodded and rolled toward him.

A smile leaked out as he reached around and gave a light swat. "Now will you give me a kiss?"

She smiled and shook her head.

He sighed in exasperation. "Why not?"

"Because my grandparents are here, and kissing you leads to much more." Her cheeks burned as she fingered his top shirt button.

"It doesn't need to lead to more," he growled, seeming irritated.

"Did you not like anything last night beyond the kissing?" She frowned.

The man blinked. "I...you..." He actually blushed. "Of course I did!" He glared. "You think I am daft?!"

She nuzzled against his chest and snuggled closer. "I do not wish to kiss you like that right now because I will want more - more of not being ashamed and feeling beautiful and intelligent...of being safe in a good man's arms." With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes. "I never had true happiness until you."

No response for several seconds. Then his arms wrapped around and held fast without a word even though his heart thundered fast against her cheek.

"I know consummation will probably hurt at first because of the scars, but I will welcome it because it means having you." Leaning her head back to meet his gaze, she offered a soft smile. "I trust you that I'll eventually find pleasure in offering you my body. You can take me whenever you think it's safe for the babe."

"If I said right now that if I'm gentle the babe would be safe, you would go with me upstairs?"

There was no need to pause for thought. From the depths of her heart, she trusted him with the very act that had been a horrific nightmare. She nodded.

He searched her eyes, his expression unreadable. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked her head under his chin. "Tanya," he breathed and seemed content to simply lie together.

Being so close against his hard muscle proved too hard to not kiss such a perfect specimen of a man. She tilted her head back and held his shoulders to pull herself up higher. The moment her lips touched his, a deep, throaty groan vibrated from his chest. He needed no further invitation.

Minutes later, his hand moved higher under the skirts and stroked her bare belly.

"My grandparents are probably awake now!" She kept her voice low, utterly mortified.

He actually grinned as he shifted his weight to lean up on his elbow and look down at her. "Good of them to not disturb us. I'm certain all of England heard you." A mischevious twinkle filled his eye as he stroked the babe, and he didn't seem at all distressed about his pants straining. "No clothes tonight."

"Oh no," she laughed and scooted back to push herself up, only the man leaned his weight on her legs enough to prohibit getting farther away than a recline against the settee arm. "You set yourself up for misery..." His hand sliding down halted all thought for a moment. She cleared her throat and pushed his hand away. "Behave. We have guests, for one - "

"Who understand what it's like to be newlyweds." He scooted closer so his lips were a hairsbreath away. His voice dropped to a rich, husky baritone that rumbled in his broad chest, causing shivers of delight. "Do you not find pleasure when I touch you, wife?" Those blue eyes dropped to her lips, as if mesmerized.

Swallowing hard, she drew a steadying breath to calm the racing of her heart. "You are becoming irrational with lust." She reached down to touch, but he caught her hand and locked gazes.

"A man has never perished from desiring his woman." Then he brought her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss over the back of her hand. Those deep blue eyes seemed to reach into the very depths of her soul.

Oh dear heaven, this must be what melting into a puddle felt like. Brash, arrogant, rough, impatient, rake...never had it occurred that he could be a master of seduction. This side of him seemed a bit wild...and free. Drawing a steadying breath, she searched his eyes for what seemed to be new territory. "Anna never let you seduce her."

With a growl of irritation, he leaned forward and gave a light nip to her earlobe, causing a thrill of desire. "I don't wish to discuss her, but no, a chaste kiss in daylight and quick bedding in the dark were the extent of passion." A slight note of something colored his tone, but it was hard to put a finger on it. Then he kissed her neck.

She frowned. "Am I not being proper?" Anna knew Society's rules for a proper lady. All she knew were maids and stable boys tossing up skirts in the barn.

"I don't goddamn care what's proper. No one but you and I know what occurs, so it has little consequence." His hands massaged her breasts as he kissed the other side of her neck. "I want my Tanya."

His Tanya. Closing her eyes, she basked in the warmth of those words. Then her eyes flew open as it dawned - his tone had been resentment toward Anna.

* * *

Grandfather and Grandmama were already at the breakfast table when Mark walked her in on his arm a few minutes later - the table only across the foyer from Mark's study.

"Good morning. Tanya was helping me with some work, and I lost track of time," Mark said casually and then pulled out her chair. He didn't seem to suffer the same burning cheeks symptoms as she.

"It's good for a breeding woman to keep busy," Grandfather said, seeming oblivious.

"And it's good of a man to be supportive of educating his wife," Grandmama said with a knowing smile.

Mark cleared his throat a little uncomfortably at being caught, but he regained his composure in the next instant.

"Quite a shiner you have there." Grandfather leaned closer from Mark's left. "Can you see alright?"

She blinked. "Why? What's wrong that he wouldn't see?" Her heart pounded with worry.

"His eyeball is slightly pink from an internal hemorrhage."

"Good heavens! Mark, let him check your eye." She set aside her napkin to go grab Mark's bag.

Mark set a hand over hers on the table. "I can see fine, woman. Eat."

A panicked look flew to Grandfather.

"He won't go blind over breakfast. I'll check him when we're done." He smiled and picked up his fork.

Mark turned to Grandmama. "I should ask your advice: I've delivered many babes, but I am clueless as to what you actually do with one once it's born or not ill."

Grandmama exchanged a smile with her. "Grandson, Tanya will take care of the feedings - "

"And no wet nurse," she jumped in. "I know upperclass women aren't supposed to feed their babes, but I will feed my own child. And I don't want a nanny either."

His eyebrows rose before he remembered himself. "You can do what you wish, but you're welcome to a wet nurse and nanny."

"What am I to do all day while someone else raises our babe? If you aren't working at the bank, what are you going to do? I don't want a wet nurse and nanny!" She set a protective hand over her belly.

"It's a simple offer that is considered socially acceptable to offer my wife," he drawled.

Grandfather leaned over and slapped his back. "Do what Tanya tells you is the secret!" He belly laughed. "I was a nervous wreck for the first month. Lily was calm and seemed to know exactly what to do. You'll be amazed at how the howl of an infant will make you cower. I think I cried the third night I was a father."

Mark paled.

She patted Mark's arm. "I dealt with children enough as a maid. I'll get you through it," she laughed.

"Do they really cry so much?" Mark gulped.

"All the time," Grandfather laughed. "Feeding, holding, changing...everything." He leaned closer. "And forget about sleeping until they're three years."

Poor Mark looked so white that she and Grandmama burst out laughing.

While the men went into the other room to check Mark's eye, Grandmama took her for a walk around the ballroom at Mark's insistence to exercise the babe. "What's your home like?"

"The English have moved to Colorado, and although the we keep many of our traditions, some of us live in cabins during the winters. In the summer, we live in tepees and hunt our food and all of those things you've probably heard about."

"Do you have many in your tribe?"

"About forty. Our kind are scattered throughout the West. Why?"

She sighed. "I've never fit in here because I look different. When I was little, I wondered what it'd be like to live there where maybe I'd fit in and have family."

Grandmama took her hands. "And you are noticed - what a gift to not blend in."

"What?"

"You are noticed and remembered because you are different. What changes you could bring about, Tanya."

"Changes? I'm a nobody - "

"Like speaking out for women's rights," Mark said behind her.

She spun around. "What?"

"A law that allows women who are abused in marriage to file for separation."

She laughed. "That's absurd and who would listen to a woman? A 'heathen'?"

"A man who has a heavy hand in Parliament," Grandfather answered.

"No one would listen to me," she snorted.

"I would." Mark looked serious.

Grandmama smiled at her confused look. "Your husband is a wealthy man, which brings power."

"Parliament meets next week. Yes, it's a radical notion to present," he said, more animated than he'd been in a long time as he stepped closer and took her hands, "but help me write the argument. You're passionate and intelligent and..." Regret filled his eyes. "And there is no one who knows better to help me write my speech."

She chewed her lip for a moment. "When the Sheriff came and took away those men yesterday, you talked to him in private for awhile. What did you tell him you're pressing charges for?"

His jaw set and shoulders tensed as he propped his hands on the cane. "I pressed full charges."

"You didn't press for hanging, did you?"

Those blue eyes narrowed and he growled, "As deserved for what he did to you months ago."

"Mark." He was too good of a man to condemn anyone to death. "Tell me you didn't." Talking about that man made it suddenly dawned that she hadn't put in the breast prosthesis for breakfast. She folded her arms over the deformity.

"No. He deserves to live in filth and disease," he hissed. Rage crackled from his very core. "I pressed charges for life in prison, and I hope he dies a slow, painful death."

"Mark!"

His eyes flicked down to her arms, as if realizing she hid herself. His neck reddened as he exploded. "He raped and sliced and kidnapped my wife! The law would've stood behind me if I'd killed him myself!" His neck veins bulged with his shout. "I gave him mercy not being in my hands when he showed you none!"

"It is God's place to judge, not yours! You cannot leave him to rot - "

"Enough! I will goddamn leave him to rot - "

"Mark." Grandfather set a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go outside for some air."

His chest heaved in anger. He shrugged off Grandfather's hand and stood, sending the chair toppling back. Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up and out the door.

She had to walk fast to keep up. "Mark?"

The kitchen was the closest room, and he pulled her inside and pressed her back up against the ice box. Leaning a hand near her head, he dropped the cane and held her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. "You are mine," he snarled. "The law gives me freedom to do almost anything I wish to filth that touches my wife."

Anger and jealousy drove him toward madness. Somehow it gave comfort that her pain drove him insane.

His lips curled back in a sneer. "Look at me," he growled and turned her face up and locked eyes with her. Dangerous rage sparked in his gaze and his hot breath swept over her skin from his close stance. "Every scream, every drop of blood, every whimper he tore from you is my right to tear tenfold from him." His teeth clenched as the words hissed past his lips. "For every lie he spewed, every moment of shame he taught you, it is my right to make him rot in a black Hell of existence." His hand clasping her jaw trembled with anger. "God can decide what diseases and beatings will plague him until his death. I will not hear another word of being merciful - I _have_ given him mercy. And I know I will regret letting him live every time you flinch in fear or shame fills your eyes." The fury was so great that tears of rage shimmered in his eyes. "Every goddamn time you hide your body, I wish for nothing more than to kill him. He breathes at this moment only because I know you would somehow feel responsible for his death. I did not kill him yesterday for your sake; and I would slay him with my last breath for your sake. Do not speak to me of having mercy for a monster who tortured my beautiful wife." His mouth crushed down with possessiveness and his tongue swept over hers in his claim. Then he snatched the cane and stormed out.

Pressing a hand to her lips, her heart still thundered from his kiss. Then she spotted Brigands and Tim at the kitchen counter staring with wide eyes just a few steps away.

Tim dabbed at his eyes eith the corner of his apron. Brigands just smiled and returned to his work.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Awed, Guest and Old Soul in Wonderland!**

 **The law Mark speaks of for women being able to obtain marriage separation from a physically abusive husband actually didn't pass in Parliament for about another decade after this time period. Mark is a completely fictitious character and had no true hand in that law passing. :) I just like to incorporate real historical things into my stories.**

* * *

She sat at his desk with her head in the palms of her hands as Mark recited his speech that afternoon. Grandfather, having traveled to Europe several times in search of her over the years, had decent knowledge of the laws and was the most help to Mark writing his speech. Most of it was over her head, but his words compelled all the same. He had that aura of power and command when he spoke. No wonder why the King hated rivaling him - Mark proved to be an able contender. He even pulled Brigands in to help seal the holes. Brigands's wisdom and years of serving the high gentry offered valuable feedback, and he even helped Mark revise some parts.

When Mark finished, his eyes went to her. His cheeks stained when he spotted her elbows on the edge of the desk with her head in her hands as she gazed at him. Butterflies fluttered and she sighed. He was magnificent.

Grandfather broke the spell when he stood and clapped. "Bravo! Be a little more forceful, but I know you were shy in front of your lady."

Mark cracked a smile and looked away, his cheeks reddening more.

She scooted to the edge of the chair and pushed herself up, walking around the desk to Mark to kiss his cheek. "You'll win them over." She stroked his cheek and looked into his eyes, not caring one wit who witnessed the intimate moment.

His gaze fell in what seemed to be an uncharacteristic moment of shyness before he let the smile free.

* * *

In the washroom that night, she scratched her itchy belly again. It must be the winter air. Digging through the cabinet in Mark's washroom, she spotted a can of handcream. She pulled up her skirts and glanced in the mirror at the underside of her belly. Oh god. Pink streaks like infection. Something was wrong with the babe! "Mark! Mark!"

He burst through the door on his cane without a shirt, his eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"Something's wrong with the babe. He's infected." She turned and showed him as tears threatened.

The man leaned down and his fingers ran over the lines. "No, sweetheart, those are stretch marks." He straightened.

"Stretch marks?" That didn't sound good. She touched them, unable to see them over her belly. "They don't hurt, but they itch. What's wrong with the babe?" Her eyes flew to him.

"Nothing is wrong. The babe is growing, but your skin can't stretch too much farther. These stretch marks come as a normal part of pregnancy. I can make you a cream that will help with the itching."

Oh. Dear. God. "You mean more of these will come?" Two more months of this?

"A few more may. Put cream on your belly a couple times of day will help."

She dropped her skirts, utterly mortified. It was bad enough having trouble getting around and being almost too big for Mark to fit his arms around anymore without having ugly lines like this.

"Tanya, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a good sign - it means the babe is growing well. After birth, the lines will fade away." He reached to lay a hand on the babe.

She took a step back and it all seemed overwhelming all of the sudden. Sobs burst out.

"No, Tanya," he cooed and stepped closer as he pulled her into his arms.

"I feel like a whale and..." She gulped in air, "and now I'm getting ugly and I don't want to give birth and the..." another chocked sob cut in, "babe probably won't fit and you'll have to cut him out and I've heard men say their wives scream and scream during birth - "

"Whoa, whoa. You're small for a woman, so carrying a babe will be a bit more physically demanding on you, but you're not a whale. You are not getting ugly - those are lovely lines because it means you're growing a strong babe. Almost all women get them. We are going to do everything possible to not have to cut the babe out. We men like to embellish how terrible we have it during birth - it makes us feel more manly for not doing anything while our wives created another life. Have you ever talked to a woman about childbirth? To know what to expect?"

She shook her head against his chest. Another wail broke out. "You can't even fit your arms around me!"

He immediately shifted to stand at her side and lay her cheek on his chest. "I can fit my arms around you just fine," he said in that matter-of-fact, manly way. "The babe is making you emotional. Word is that Mrs. Greymore, the butcher's wife, is expecting her third babe soon. I delivered her two other children. She had uneventful births. Shall I ask her if you may attend the birth? Perhaps it would allay your fears to see a birth."

* * *

A few days later, her nerves churned her stomach as Mark drove the buggy to Mrs. Greymore's house at sunrise. "Mark - "

"Tanya, the surgeon will be there. If something goes wrong, you can leave the room," he promised. "She's had smooth births before and an uneventful pregnancy. She's the perfect one for you to witness childbirth."

She huddled deeper into her cloak, not for being cold but wishing to be anywhere else. Perhaps Mark had been away from medicine for so long that he forgot about childbirth screaming and gore and... The urge to vomit intensified. Think of something else. "Have you decided if you're going to get your license again?"

He shrugged.

"Come on, tell me!" She nudged his arm.

A smile broke free. "I submitted the papers, and there's a probationary period. If I trial well for several months, I can get a probationary license. The courts will check in on my cases periodically. If it goes well, I may be able to have full licensure."

"Oh, Mark!" She flung her arms around him. "Are you helping with the birth today?"

"If Mrs. Greymore and her husband consent." The man couldn't fully suppress his smile.

"That's why the messenger came to say she's in labor. What physician are you working under?" She linked her arm through his, the nerves disappearing. Mark would ensure a safe birth.

He cleared his throat. "You will be cordial."

She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be? I - "

"Dr. Englewood."

Jerking her arm from his, she turned in the seat to scowl at his profile. "The moment you have one tiny slip, he will report you! How - "

His voice took on a hard edge. "He was assigned to me and will follow through. If I am to be relicensed, this is how it works. It's his duty to see that I'm fit - "

"He almost sent you to the gallows!"

Those blue eyes shot to her. "As was his legal duty to report me! Enough! You will not distress yourself or Mrs. Greymore. No matter what he says, you will not participate in the conversation today, understood?" His gaze returned to the road. "He and I will be making decisions, with him having final say. You are not to interrupt if he disagrees with me."

Her blood boiled. "And if you believe what he is doing will kill her or the babe, I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut?!"

"Yes! He and I will handle it! You will leave your opinions of him at the door. Am I clear?"

Spinning around, she shoved back into the seat and crossed her arms over her chest under the cloak. "Don't worry - I won't have a single thing to say to him."

Mark released a deep, frustrated sigh.

When Mark knocked on the door, a girl of perhaps ten years opened it. "Mr. Dr. Debonairo!" She rushed at him.

He caught the girl, swinging her into the air with a chuckle. "Miss Evelyn, how big you've gotten." He held the girl in one arm as he ushered both of them in.

The girl giggled. "You still call me Miss Evelyn. I tell you a hundred times it's just Evie."

She stared at the friendly banter between the two of them. It hadn't occurred that Mark enjoyed children or had any kind of interaction with them.

"You should always tell a gentleman to address you properly. Soon all the lads will be clamoring for your favor." He set the girl down and then turned to help her off with her cloak. "Tanya, this is their oldest, Evelyn. Evelyn, this is my wife - "

The girl tugged hard on his sleeve, making him bend down. Then she whispered loudly in his ear. "She's pretty."

He smiled. "Yes, she is." Then he straightened.

"Mr. Dr. Debonairo when will you do a sleepover again?"

She blinked at Mark.

He flushed. "Evie came down with Scarlet Fever when she was four - "

Evelyn took her cloak from him as the little hostess and laid it over the back of a chair. "And he did a sleepover for three days! He colored pictures with me and then helped Mama have Ben." She pointed to a little boy of perhaps seven who peeked out from the kitchen. Then Evie took Mark's top hat and gloves.

"Mrs. Greymore went into labor hours after Evie came down with Scarlett Fever. I stayed for a few days to help Mr. Greymore take care of them and teach him proper hygiene so it didn't pass to Ben - "

"Every Tuesday when he passes our house for work, he still brings us sweets!" Evie reached in his pocket without asking and pulled out a peppermint. "You remembered!" She gasped and clutched the treasure.

She smiled. How very unlike the Devil Debonairo and very like Mark.

Then he looked at the boy and moved his hands in an odd manner as he spoke. "Come, Ben. Do you want your sweet?" He pulled a peppermint out of his other pocket and held it out. Then he glanced at her. "Since becoming deaf from an illness a couple years ago, Ben's grown very leery of strangers - some children are not kind to him." Regret filled Mark's tone. "I taught Evie to read so she can read the sign language books to her parents."

Books that Mark probably brought and obviously read himself. "How do I tell him 'hello' and my name?" She copied the signs that Mark made.

"Where are your parents, Ben?" Mark took her arm when Ben pointed to the bedchamber.

"Mama and Papa are in their room with Dr. Englewood," Evie said. "Come, Mr. Dr. Debonairo."

She giggled at the girl's odd name for him.

"She doesn't quite comprehend that I used to be 'Dr.' but am not currently," he whispered as the girl tugged him out of the room. He paused next to the boy, who seemed to recognize the signal to climb up on Mark's back. The boy had a little crutch in one hand. Mark must've noticed her gaze because he said in hushed tones, "I didn't have a license anymore at the time. He had an ear infection that a physician assured the parents that arsenic would cure it."

She gasped in horror. "How did he not die?"

Mark straightened as best he could with the boy and leaned on his cane to walk. "A birdie got wind of it a week later and told the parents to cease treatment immediately and use hot salt and white tea leaves for the ear infection. Unfortunately by then, damage had already been done."

Evie stopped in the hall and turned. "It wasn't a bird - it was you. I remember you telling Mama."

He leveled Evie with a firm look.

Her hands flew over her mouth. "I mean, it was a birdie," she stated with certainty. Then she leaned closer to him and whispered behind her hand, "Is she going to send you to jail?"

Mark cracked a smile. "Luckily not. Watch your brother." He slid Ben down and Evie helped her brother limp into the other room.

A large man stepped out of the bedroom. He grabbed Mark's hand and pumped it. "So glad you're here. He insists she labor in bed, but...you know."

He nodded. "She gets back labor and needs to walk. I'll talk to him. Tanya, this is Mr. Greymore. My wife."

The man gave a quick nod, clearly distressed, and then led the way inside.

A woman about her own age pushed herself out of bed, her hair damp already. Mark and Mr. Greymore hurried over and helped her up. She started walking the small room with her husband.

"She will tire," Dr. Englewood protested.

"It relieves her discomfort," Mark said casually and rolled up his sleeves. "Pain will tire her far faster than walking. Tanya, I'm sure Mrs. Greymore would enjoy company while I wash." He went back out to the kitchen, taking the frazzled Mr. Greymore with him.

The woman held out her hand and actually smiled. "Come walk. I find it helps."

So she went over and took the woman's hand. "Is it terrible?"

"It's not so bad until the babe starts to actually come. I have trouble with my back hurting during birth. Dr. Debonairo lets me walk or sit or kneel or do whatever I need. The first babe takes the longest. Is this your - " The woman stopped and held her arms, bending a bit at the waist and breathing deeply. She seemed so calm, so at peace.

Mark walked in at that moment and pressed on the woman's lower back and looked at his pocketwatch.

Then she straightened, picking up the sentence. "Is this your first child?"

She blinked and glanced at Mark, who laid a hand on the woman's belly as if to feel the contractions. "Um, yes."

"Fred is watching the children," Mark stated, still eyeing his watch.

Mrs. Greymore smiled. "My husband is squeamish. Imagine, a butcher who can't handle childbirth."

She smiled at the woman's ease with labor. This seemed far less frightening than the rumors said. Mark and Dr. Englewood stood back while she walked with Mrs. Greymore.

When the woman would stop and breathe deeply, Mark would step forward and press on the woman's hips or back and time the contractions, which seemed to grow longer and more frequent. "It eases the pain to counter the pressure," Mark explained, as if sensing her question.

Minutes later, the woman's face contorted in pain and she grabbed Mark's arm as she panted.

"Deep breaths, Sandy," he said, completely calm and unflinching. "It's a strong one. Almost there. Twenty seconds. Tanya, grab the glass of water on the nightstand."

"A laboring woman shouldn't eat or drink," Dr. Englewood stated.

She stopped and glanced at Mark in uncertainty what to do.

Mark glared at the physician for so long that even she wanted to squirm. "And you've found dehydration to not cause erratic contractions and weaken the mother, thereby prolonging labor and resulting in a need for surgery should the babe even tolerate such prolonged distress?"

She winced and continued to the nightstand without a glance at Dr. Englewood. Clearly Mark had hard feelings of his own toward the man and didn't appreciate being contradicted when he had far more experience.

Mrs. Greymore practically gulped down the water until Mark pulled it out of her hands after more than half the glass was gone. "Easy, Sandy. Too much and the contractions will make you nauseous. You can have more in a half hour." He had a calm steadiness about him that seemed to rub off on Mrs. Greymore too.

"Do you need to sit?" The woman seemed to wish for conversation as she resumed pacing and rubbed her belly. "The end of pregnancy makes it uncomfortable to stand for long."

With hot cheeks, she forced a smile to hide the embarrassment. "I'm not due for a couple months yet." Taking a closer look as Mrs. Greymore ran a hand over her belly and nightgown, her belly didn't look much bigger.

The woman didn't miss a beat but smiled. "Good for you. Mark here insisted that exercise helped keep me fit longer. Do as he says." But her eyes flicked to her belly with a brief glint of concern.

"Tanya had severe illness in the first months of pregnancy that weakened her muscles - " Mark needed to offer no further explanation.

"Oh, you poor thing! And now everyone thinks - " She cut off as a contraction took over. Then she sighed when it finished and her look of concern returned. "Everyone thinks you're coming due. After Evie, I noticed that I showed much sooner with Ben. Mark said it was because of the muscles being weaker from being stretched." Then she waddled over and caught her arm, pulling her to a corner of the room. The woman lifted her nightgown on one side and showed light pink stretch marks. "Tell Mark to make you a cream," she whispered. "These were as red as fire, but he said how to make a cream and they're already getting better. They weren't as bad with Ben, and they turned whitish after a few months, just like Mark said."

"You have them too?" She whispered in surprise. "I noticed them the other day. Do you get them from nursing too?" Goodness, it was so wonderful to have a woman to ask questions that were too embarrassing to ask Mark. And someone who had been through it already. She glanced at Mark, who stood on the other side of the room and smiled.

The friendly conversation with Mrs. Greymore gradually ceased as her attention began to focus inward with the progression of labor. The woman turned to Mark and grabbed his arms again. He stroked her belly in purposeful, downward motion. A low groan of agony came from Mrs. Greymore.

She blinked as a puddle grew at the woman's feet and Mark's shoes. "Um, Mark?"

"Her water broke, it's alright, Tanya." He didn't seem to care at all and kept his attention on the woman.

When she made it through the contraction, Mrs. Greymore looked down with red cheeks. "I'm so sorry - "

"Sandy, if this was the worst I'd ever had on me, I'd be a happy man." He handed her off to Dr. Englewood. "Tanya, would you fetch a towel?"

She found one in the hall closet and returned. Her heart melted when he knelt as best he could and wiped Sandy's legs and feet before seeing to himself. He was so gentle, so calm, so compassionate with a birthing woman. When Dr. Englewood busied himself getting Mrs. Greymore in bed, she handed him another towel for himself. "You cleaned her first."

He looked up in confusion. "Of course."

"You don't flinch when she grabs you during contractions."

A smile cracked through. "No." Then he finished wiping his shoes and stood. "A man's place is to be supportive of a birthing woman. It's not proper by any means, but the poor woman's husband isn't here."

"But, she's not your wife or kin."

"Should I treat her with any less compassion then?" He seemed genuinely amused at her surprise.

While the men seemed busy with Mrs. Greymore, she slipped out of the room. Mr. Greymore paced in the front room as the children played on the floor with a spinning top. "Mr. Greymore? Perhaps you could try coming in. She's very distressed and I think wishes you were there."

He shook his head. "I can't take seeing her in pain like that."

"Not seeing it doesn't mean it's not happening. Wouldn't you rather be there to help her through it than make her do it alone?"

Those words seemed to crumble his walls a bit. "A man isn't to be present for childbirth - "

"And yet two men are in there delivering your babe. Your wife doesn't strike me as one overly concerned with convention. I'm sure your support would mean the world to her." She folded her hands over her belly. "I know that when I birth, I'll want my husband there to hold my hand and encourage me when I get exhausted. Come. At least try."

Mr. Greymore returned. By the time his wife labored hard in bed, she turned to him repeatedly for support. The man looked ragged and pale, but he held his wife's hand and wiped her brow and offered words of encouragement.

The woman's focus and quiet laboring left her in awe, and Mark's calmness through it all was comforting. When Mr. Greymore would look overwhelmed, Mark would step in and remind Mr. Greymore to massage the cramps from his wife's legs or stroke her shoulders to ease the tension. Otherwise, Mark listened to her and the babe and left her alone for the most part.

Mark stood beside her against the wall and watched with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes focused on the woman. "Is it as bad as you expected?"

"No, but aren't you supposed to check her progress?"

"Some physicians check frequently."

"But?" She smiled.

"But there seems to be a correlation with frequent checks and childbed fever. The less interference, the better. Even during birth, I leave the mother alone if everything is going well."

"Push," Mrs. Greymore panted.

Mark didn't move as Dr. Englewood stepped forward and checked her progress.

She set a hand in his upper arm. It must be degrading to have been one of the world's best and now have to be supervised like wet-behind-the-ears physician. He took it with grace and dignity, however.

Dr. Englewood wiped his hands and then came over. "Prep for surgery," he said under his breath.

"No." Mark didn't even blink.

Dr. Englewood's eyebrow rose. "The babe turned breech. Prep for surgery."

"The babe was breech when we arrived. Her pelvis can adequately fit a breech. It's presenting bottom first, so there is low risk to the babe as long as a leg protects the neck from her cervix clamping on the neck." Mark looked as calm as ever.

"This is another one of your hairbrained notions - "

"That I've done dozens of times," he said dryly. "You won't get in there on time before she births, and surgery puts Mrs. Greymore in unnecessary danger."

"Mark, I do not have time for your theories. You will prep for surgery."

His eyes finally narrowed. "I cannot act without your consent, but I am not legally bound to act on what I disagree with," he said through clenched teeth. "If you do surgery, you do it without me. If the parents ask my opinion, I'll advise against it."

She glanced between the men, her nerves winding tighter. Sandy panted harder and her face contorted. "Um, hurry up - I think she's pushing."

"Fine. Anything goes wrong, and I start surgery," Englewood said.

Mark flew to the kitchen, grabbing her hand and dragging her along. "Wash. I don't think he'll be much help." A thorough scrubbing and then she followed him back into the room. He flew setting tools out on a fresh linen and climbed on the bed. "Sandy, on your knees to better fit the babe. Tanya, be ready to hand me tools."

She watched, completely fascinated as Mark coached the woman. He encouraged and praised and directed Mrs. Greymore flawlessly. This was where his work came in.

His hands flew as delivery progressed fast. Then he grabbed scissors and blood dripped a moment later. "That's normal. Don't faint, Tanya. Give me the towel." He took it, his bloody hands wrapping around the babe's bottom as he slowly wiggled, seeming to help Sandy get the babe out. "One hard push, Sandy. Just the shoulders left."

The babe emerged in his hands. And didn't cry. He unwrapped a cord from around the neck and used some kind of bulb apparatus to suction mucus from the mouth and nostrils.

"Is it a boy or girl?" Tears fell from Mrs. Greymore's eyes as her husband helped her lie back.

"A girl," she answered and swallowed hard as Mark seemed entirely focused on the babe that still didn't move. Then he set his mouth over the babe's mouth and nose and blew.

The babe coughed and choked. Mark flipped the babe upside down and swatted its back. More mucus came out and then a solid wail filled the air. He smiled and wiped down the babe before handing the infant to the parents. They cried and fussed over their new daughter.

Some kind of cord ran from the babe's belly down to Mrs. Greymore. Mark clamped it and then picked up fresh scissors.

She grabbed his shoulder in horror - he was going to cut them. "Mark."

He smiled and paused to look at her. "It doesn't hurt either of them. It's the umbilical cord - how Sandy and the babe shared food and blood during pregnancy. It will dry up in a few days and fall off the babe, leaving a belly button."

She leaned forward, fascinated and disgusted, as he tied it off at the babe's naval and then cut. The babe didn't even seem to notice, already rooting to breastfeed. Then she stepped back as Sandy birthed something without notice. "What is that?" she whispered in morbid curiosity.

"This, Tanya, is what sustains pregnancy," he said in fascination. "This is the placenta. See the blood vessels? This side is where it attached to Sandy's womb..." The man explained amazing details, and the bloody glob became less disgusting as he pointed out everything it was thought to do during pregnancy. "My theory is the mother's and babe's blood never crosses."

She blinked. "But the textbooks say - "

"Yes, but how do you explain the mother having illness such as influenza during birth and the infant being born without it? It makes no sense to have them share blood. And look - the maternal side appears to have a different vascular structure than the fetal side. This is the amniotic sac that is filled with fluid that the babe lives in. That's what all that fluid was from her water breaking."

His face lit up. This is what he was meant to do - not sit behind a desk and run a bank, but learn and discover and test medicine to bring healthy babes into this world. "Is it really water?"

"It's thought to be composed of water and likely salt and other things." He turned the placenta over and over, seeming to search.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure pieces aren't left in that will infect her." He pointed to a spot no bigger than his hand. "There." He wiped one hand and then massaged Mrs. Graymore's belly. "Go ahead and nurse, Sandy. There's a bit in there that we need out." Then he said to her, "Nursing causes contractions."

It was mesmerizing and amazing as the babe just took to her mother, cuddling up and closing her eyes as she nursed. It was like she knew she was safe and loved. Realizing she stared, she flushed and stepped back.

"Have you ever seen a babe nurse?" the woman asked.

"No. I didn't mean to..." She backed up and dropped her gaze.

"Come. Dr. Debonairo had to teach me with Evie. Just like this. Make sure the babe doesn't smother herself..." The dear woman showed exactly what to do.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

The sweet lady answered questions and offered a wealth of knowledge as Mark worked. "Just three sutures, Sandy," he said.

She returned to where he picked up a needle and thread to watch what he was up to now.

He smiled and shook his head when Mrs. Greymore didn't even seem to notice him put in the first stitch but looked at the babe's little fingers and toes with her husband as the babe nursed. "It never fails to amaze me the pain threshold that women have when first holding their newborn. You could do surgery and not have them bat an eye.

She smiled and laid a hand on his back. "You really love this, don't you?"

How perfect and sure he stitched - with the precision of a true surgeon. "Look at what a woman's body can do in nine months - it just knows how to create a babe." Then he glanced up at the babe. "And look at her - she just comes into the world and knows her mother's scent and voice. Have you ever seen a bond as strong and fast as when a mother holds her babe for the first time?"

She studied the family as Mark returned to work. "You sound a little jealous."

He shrugged under her hand. "Women carry the babe for nine months, feeling every kick and twinge and having this physical bond with the babe, and then after birth they hold the babe against their breast and sustain the babe with nourishment. Look at how content they both are. Men are bystanders more than anything in their child's lives."

"Is that what your father was like? You never speak of him."

"Because that's what I knew of him. Children were meant to be heirs. He disapproved of me taking a profession and not living off of investments."

Like a 'high-bred gentleman' was meant to do by Society's rules.

"Would you like to hold her?" Mrs. Greymore's voice cut in.

She looked up. The babe must've fallen asleep in the middle of nursing. Her heart beat faster. "Oh, no. I've never held a babe - "

"Just support her head. Cradle her in your arms." She handed over the newborn.

The tiny sleeping babe weighed almost nothing. A warm feeling washed over - like her heart splitting open with love. But a different kind of love than what she felt for Mark. This must be the love of a mother. Tears welled. Papa said that Mama held her once before dying. This must be what Mama's love had felt like. Suddenly, the feeling grew stronger and a longing to hold her own babe blossomed.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Mark's words cut in.

She looked at him, cradling the precious treasure in her arms. For the first time, there wasn't resentment or tainted horror associated with a terrible man's babe growing in her belly...simply love. The emotion was so overwhelming. She turned to Mrs. Greymore and handed over the infant. "She's perfect." Holding her belly, she hurried out.

Mark came out to the kitchen minutes later all cleaned up and knelt before her chair, despite the pains it took him. "What's wrong?" He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the tears.

She sniffled and met his eyes. "I always wanted what she has and then seven months ago..." More tears flowed as she choked on a sob. "I never thought I'd love the babe, but I do."

"Of course you do." He swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear and searched her eyes. "That's our babe." His hand rested on her belly.

"And even after we married, I thought I'd be alone for the birth. For forever." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, needing to cling to him. "Holding her, it made me really love the babe for the first time. But I wish he was yours."

He held tight, cupping the back of her head as she wept on his shoulder. "Oh, my girl, he _is_ mine," he whispered in a thick voice. "I will love him as if I sired him. I'll be right there for the birth. I'll always be there if you need me."

* * *

Slipping her arm through his on the way home that evening, she scooted closer to his heat. "Mark?"

He grunted.

"I'm glad you're going to try for your license again. If you should need an extra set of hands on occasion and it won't be too bloody, I can help."

His head whipped to her with wide eyes. Then he blinked. "You would want to come on calls?"

"If it's not someone's hand got mangled or head kicked in. But maybe something like Brigands's wife's surgery or a birth..."

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I should like that. Mind that I won't drag you out in the middle of the night and a surgeon's wife does not have a glamorous life - "

She laughed and patted his arm. "Yes, coming from poverty to becoming a surgeon's wife is very much a step down."

But he didn't smile and returned his eyes to the road.

The laugh faded. "Anna didn't approve of your profession either."

He cleared his throat, that gruff, cloaked aura overcoming him again. "We wed once I finished university studying how to run a bank like Father wanted. Neither of us expected my father to cut off my inheritance when I announced I was continuing on to medical university. They likely both thought it was a flippant notion that would pass. She never voiced opposition but after I had to work to provide our income, refused to have anyone find out about our limited means. I was invited to serve as a professor after a few years, which is apparently appropriate for a woman to brag about at balls. Once my reputation grew internationally and then invitations to Society's finest balls came pouring in, it then became appropriate to talk about my occupation as a physician. Nights when I came home from late calls to patients were met with a locked bedchamber door." He cleared his throat, as if realizing he'd spilled too much, and snapped the reins to speed up the horse a bit. "Eat extra at dinner - I was so caught up that it didn't occur I didn't feed you lunch," he grunted, his voice hard.

"Mark?" She set a hand on his arm. "I have no place to judge and I won't speak of it to anyone."

He kept his eyes ahead and didn't speak.

"I am very uneducated about the ways of the Upper Class. Knowing what it's like to not have food and shelter and to carry a bastard, I am quite happy with a husband who has taken away those hardships. Should he wish to join a circus to provide for a family, I would not know any better if Society would say I should regret his profession. I would only care that he is happy and the children have full bellies. I am an ignorant simpleton, which sounds like is for once probably a good thing for you - "

"You're a woman who cares more for the happiness of her family than Society's superficial rules," he snapped.

Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean to speak ill of Anna - "

"You didn't," he growled, "I did."

She kept quiet for several minutes to let the storm pass, completely baffled what to think of his comment. Then that comment he'd made about Anna the other day that had sounded resentful...it didn't sit well that Anna seemed to be falling out of his good graces. "Mark, if I've ever made you feel like you need to choose between Anna and I, I never meant to. You've made comments a couple times now that seem like you're resentful. I've never meant to make you think less of her or - "

"I was happily married because I knew no different," he barked.

This was a first to have an incredibly uncomfortable conversation with him. "Mark, I apologize - "

"For what?" he snapped. "For not abandoning me when things get hard? For not resenting me pursuing a profession that makes me happy? For not caring that I'm crippled? For making me goddamn happier than I've ever been?" He bit off his words and his leather gloves creaked as his hands choked the reins.

She looked down at her lap, utterly confused. Guilt welled at somehow having made Anna fall in his eyes.

He pulled up the drive and worked his way down. Then he turned and offered a hand, his eyes hard.

Taking his hand, she held his arm on the steps up to the house so he wouldn't bark that she'd slip on the ice. Once inside, he let go and headed straight for his study while still wearing his cloak and top hat.

Brigands helped her off with her things, his expression solemn.

"What's wrong?"

He looked away. "Parliament sent a letter. I left it on the Marquess's desk."

She frowned. "Isn't it probably about his speech he'll be doing?"

"A letter this close to a speech is never good, my lady."

Handing him her muff, she hurried into the study. "Mark - " She stopped in her tracks. His things had been discarded in a chair and he stood at the window looking out at the clear winter night. A letter sat open on his desk.

"You really should learn some Society decorum. You should be thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed of your husband - not every man is disinvited a week before he's to speak in Parliament," he stated, his voice matter of fact.

"What? I thought - "

"Word got out of things that happened in prison. We are quite thoroughly and irreversibly ruined, Tanya."

"Take the guards to court! They abused you!" The angry scream ripped out with such force that even he spun around in surprise. "They beat and tortured a Marquess and cannot ruin you! You did nothing wrong! Even the Court said you didn't deserve to be in prison!"

His brow furrowed with regret and shoulders slumped as he shook his head. There was no spark in him, not even his usual gruff demeanor.

She stormed over and grabbed his lapels. "You have the title and wealth to take this to Court! Why aren't you going to fight this?!"

He searched her eyes like his heart was breaking. "What you think they did in prison...it was not to that extent. I witnessed them do it to other men before hangings, but they knew better than to do it to a Marquess not yet sentenced to death." Tears shimmered in his eyes. "I was too ashamed of what they did do, and it's not far off from what you think. There's no way to fight a rumor this devastating."

"Granddaughter." Grandfather stood in the doorway with a newspaper in his hand. "I need a minute with your husband."

Her stomach clenched and she crushed his lapels in her hand. Letting go would lead to something terrible happening. She shook her head even as Mark pried her hands off. He looked hopeless, as if the same dreadful thought entering his head. As a male relative, it was Grandfather's duty to take her away from such ruin. "No, Mark, I don't care. We'll go to America and start over - "

"You're in no condition to travel, and things are going to get worse fast." He held her wrists away and let Grandmama and Brigands drag her out.

"No, Grandmama, he's already been ruined and we're fine," she sobbed. "He has enough money that he won't need to have work. We can stay here or go to Spain or America - "

"Hush, child." Grandmama lowered her head to her shoulder and rubbed her back as she cried and took her upstairs.

No amount of weeping or protesting stopped Grandfather from ordering Brigands and Becky to pack trunks of her clothes. So she rushed downstairs to the study. Mark wouldn't make her go.

She stopped in the study. Empty. So she hurried up the steps.

"Tanya," Grandfather ordered and tried to catch her at the landing.

She pushed his hands away and ran down the hall to Mark's chambers. The sobs prevented any words, so she pounded on the locked door with her fists.

He opened the door, his eyes red and eyelashes wet as if he'd been weeping.

She flung herself into his arms. "I'm staying with you. I don't care where we go or if we stay here." The tears choked. "I'm not leaving you."

Those warm, gentle hands stroked down her back. "You will go with your grandparents," he said in a gravelly voice. "They will take care of you while we wait to see if this blows over. It's the best chance of you and the babe not being ruined."

"No, the bondslave papers say I'm yours." Oh god. Anything to make him not let her go.

"Only if I protest do you have to be returned. Please, Tanya, don't make this any harder." His voice cracked.

Grandfather came around the corner. "Tanya."

"No," she sobbed and grabbed handfuls of his shirt.

"I promise I'll come for you if this gets better." He pressed a kiss to her lips and held tight for an instant. Like how he had said goodbye before leaving for the gallows.

She clung to his hands when he pulled her off. "You aren't going to come. Mark, please." She sank to her knees, the loss so painful that it hurt to breathe. Hysteria set in from the grief. "You promised to never leave me. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please. Please." She braced her hands on the floor, the sobs coming so hard that the room spun.

He knelt and cupped her face in his hands. Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm not leaving you. This is me protecting you." Then he pressed his lips to hers and pulled back to search her eyes. "I love you," he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek. Then he looked up at Grandfather. "Take her before she sends herself into labor."

Grandfather scooped her up.

"No! Mark!" Struggling against Grandfather's lean strength prove fruitless.

Mark didn't move from where he'd knelt but bowed his head as tears fell onto the carpet at her sobs for him.

"Tanya, hush before you harm the babe," Grandmama said out on the front step at the carriage. "It is not forever, only until this blows over and he says it's safe to bring you back."

But they didn't understand. In England, this would ruin him forever, much more so than being labeled a drunk murderer. She looked up at the bedchamber window.

The curtain pulled back, a faint outline of Mark visible. The tears, however, glinted the candlelight off his face. She pushed free of Grandfather to run back into the house.

But Grandfather caught her wrist. "Don't torture him, Tanya," he said softly.

His words stopped her with the force of a punch to the gut. She looked from him up to the window. Mark broke down in sobs and the curtain fell back over the window.

"He asked me to take you away to keep you from ruin. He's ashamed and humiliated and ruined. Let him be able to give you this. He knows you would stay and it is enough for him."

She looked at Grandfather through the blur of tears. Grief lined his own face.

"I do not wish to do this to you. I promise to bring you back - "

"But don't you understand? This won't blow over!"

"Granddaughter, have faith that he won't let you go." Grandmama pulled her inside and Grandfather followed. The carriage started forward.

"You don't know him," she wept, the gaping hole inside bleeding out. "He will do what's honorable and what he thinks is best for me, not what he wants. He's letting us go. Please, you have to believe me that what is best is to not listen to him. If we leave, he won't come." But the carriage didn't stop.


	22. Chapter 22

She had her own room next to Grandmama's and Grandfather's at an inn more than an hour from home. Sporadic, weak contractions made it too risky to leave bed. Grandfather promised that water and rest would calm the babe.

Bumps in the night made it impossible to sleep and didn't help with the contractions. Even sleeping with Grandmama and Grandfather sleeping on the floor didn't help - it wasn't frightening, but it left the mind free to think of Mark. Food lost it's taste, but she choked it down to keep the babe strong.

Grandfather called the local physician on the fourth day. "She's not eating much, but she's eating. It's the contractions that worry me," Grandfather said.

"Has something changed in her life? Extreme stress can cause such contractions." The physician spoke quietly on the other side of the room.

"Her husband had to leave for an unknown length of time. She acts sad all the time and shows interest in nothing. If it wasn't for the babe, I'm not sure she'd even want to eat," Grandmama said from the other side of the room and wrung her hands.

* * *

After another day, stomach pains came strong enough that constant nausea prevented eating anything and caused just enough discomfort to not sleep.

Exhaustion took hold the next morning, and all she could do was sit on the edge of the bed and rock to ease the belly pain. When the nausea grew too strong, laying down helped - until it grew to painful to be still.

Her door creaked open, but she didn't turn around. She stood and held the bedpost, rocking her hips in desperate attempt to escape the pain for even a moment. "Please go, Grandmama." Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath.

An uneven gait crossed the floor. Strong arms reached around and hands supported her belly as she was eased back to rest against a broad chest. "Easy, my Tanya," a deep baritone rumbled against her ear. He swayed gently from side to side.

"Mark," she breathed, unable to say more through the pain. She slipped her arms under his and gripped his arms, needing his strength and comfort. And to never let go. He'd come to bring her home. Tears fell but there was no energy to actually weep.

His hands caressed firm strokes over the babe. "Deep breaths," he purred. His calmness brought waves of relief, and the tension began to melt away. "Your grandfather says you've been having pains for days?" He kept his voice low and smooth and even, and it offered wonderful comfort.

With a nod, she turned around and cupped his face in her hands with her eyes closed. He leaned his forehead against hers and stroked the sides of her belly as she breathed through another wave of burning pain. Tears of happiness leaked out at having him here. No matter what happened, it would be alright because he was here.

This must be a dream. Sleep only came for minutes at a time since she left. Holding her was like breathing again - it came naturally and instinctually and was the center of his existence. Worry gnawed from her discomfort, but relief vibrated from her so much that she didn't even seem to fully register the pain. It hurt to see her so devastated that she choose to endure pain to first hold him rather than let him fix it first. "Where does it hurt, my girl?" She felt warm like a fever crept in.

Those beautiful brown eyes squinted open through the pain and looked up at him. "Are we going home?"

"Tanya, answer my question," he said with patience.

"Like indigestion but my underbelly hurts too. Are we going home?"

He eased onto the edge of the bed. Gossip at home had spread like wildfire about the Devil Debonairo seducing men, the taboo turning so ugly that mothers even pulled their sons away from him on the street. Somehow he'd become a child molester risk too. A couple nights ago, a rock sailed through the window at midnight. Cook had been turned away at the market, and patients refused him entry with Dr. Englewood. It wasn't safe for Tanya to come home. She didn't even know about Becky. Home definitely wasn't safe for her. Ignoring the question, he lifted the nightgown where she pointed. The skin had blistered and necrosis had already set in. Two little puncture marks nestled in the center of the angry red rash. "Were you bitten by a spider?"

"I don't think so." She reached to scratch.

"No!" He snatched her hand away. "There's dead tissue that needs to be cleaned so you don't get gangrene. I'd wager you're reacting to a brown recluse spider bite." He helped her lie in bed on her side.

"You didn't come to bring me home, did you?" Tears welled in her perfect brown eyes.

The panic to get here, to make sure she was alright, hadn't left any thought as to how hard it'd be to leave. "You're in no condition to travel. I'm going to fetch hot water." He hurried out and shut the door. Leaning against the wall, he set a hand over his chest and looked up at the ceiling, drawing a deep breath. She needed him to be strong, not weep and admit it caused physical pain to be without her.

He returned with a pitcher of steaming water and soap. Deep shadows had taken residence under his eyes, as if he slept even less than her. The gruff edge and slightly arrogant demeanor had been beaten from him, leaving a shell of a man. His shirt hung slightly loose like he'd lost weight already in one week.

"I've never fit in, Mark. I don't care what they say. I'm happy just you and me - "

"Do you have pains anywhere else?" he cut in as he rolled up his sleeves without looking her way.

"No." He seemed almost angry that he'd come. Those old fears slammed like a slap upside the head and left her dizzy. She pushed herself up to a sit as he mixed some powders in a cup. Painful indigestion caused a minor contraction for the babe that made her words come out breathless, "You didn't have to come just because Grandfather asked."

"You're ill. Of course I came. Drink this to help with the indigestion - it's likely a result of the venom." He added drinking water to the mix and handed over the cup.

She drank and then set down the empty glass on the nightstand while he listened to the babe. "I overheard Grandfather say that after the babe's born, we're going to America. Are you coming with or going to meet us there?"

His movements froze for a split instant. "Do you have any signs of mastitis?" When she didn't answer, he unbuttoned the nightgown and checked.

He was gentle, possibly the worst thing he could be because those stolen moments in bed and in the study flashed back. Those tender moments when the world had been safe because she'd been in his arms. "You say you love me, but you send me away and won't let me help. Are there rumors of me? Are you ashamed of me?"

"God, no," he whispered and his throat contracted in a hard swallow. He stood and began to wash.

"You're not coming to America, are you?!" Tears burned. Anger surged. "You're damn backwards sense of chivalry is going to let Grandfather marry me to someone else, isn't it?!" She shot up and stumbled as the room tipped.

He caught her and eased her onto the bed.

She clutched his sleeve as her legs refused to stand. Drawing in air in a temper became difficult as her heart pounded slower and slower. "You drugged me." Tears fell at the betrayal as she looked at him and his face began to blur.

"A light sedation because debrieding this wound will be painful." He laid her down as every muscle began to go limp.

"You'll leave before...I wake." Words began to slur, but the tears still knew to come.

"Tanya, things are worse than you know. It's not safe at home, and it's better for you if I go before you wake up." His voice grew thick like he might weep.

"Hold...me." It wasn't fair that he'd robbed her of these moments. Didn't he know that being in pain during surgery but awake to talk to him was better than this?

He laid down in bed and held her in his arms as it became impossible to keep her eyes open. "I love you, Tanya," he whispered and pressed his lips to her brow. "Forgive me."

* * *

Fighting the drug was hard, but she opened her eyes. Nothing looked clear but still fuzzy in the drugged haze. A silhouette sat in the chair beside the bed. "Mmmmm..." The name refused to take shape.

"Rest." Grandfather's weathered hand touched her arm.

"Mmmm..."

He slid the chair closer, his voice thick with emotion. "He left in fear that staying would cause you harm."

A tear crept down from the corner of her eye, gathered more and more grief with each inch it crawled toward the pillow. Muscles wouldn't move and denied turning away from Grandfather.

"It does not bring me pleasure to see you suffer, child. His reputation right now...it's physically dangerous for you to be there. These rumors compounded with Society's tenuous view of him already...even he doesn't believe he'll recover. Wherever he goes, word will eventually reach. That's no life for you to have a child on the run."

But it was no life for Mark to live it out alone and abandoned. And so the tears fell.

* * *

Without Mark's expert care, Grandfather struggled to keep the necrosis from spreading over the next day. He called the local surgeon when contractions began to come in response to the pain.

"Take her to the hospital," Grandfather told Grandmama in hushed tones. "I cannot find a messenger who will deliver the missive to Mark, so I'll fetch him myself. Mark insists that cleaned hands are necessary - do not let anyone touch her without washing with hot water."

"Be careful. Hurry. Mark will know or figure out what to do if the doctors can't help." Grandmama gave him a kiss and then led her into a carriage.

Grandmama put her fierce defending skills of Mark to shame - Grandmama browbeat and forced any nurse or surgeon who came to the hospital bed to first wash. She also somehow convinced them to put her in a separate room from the large infirmary hall where coughs and influenza plagued the patients.

The contractions eased off with laudanum. The doctors insisted on a large dose, but she took only the amount that Mark had declared safe for the babe when she'd broken her toe. It offered blessed relief from the pain - enough to fall into fitful periods of sleep plagued with dreams of Mark leaving.

Grandfather walked in hours later. Without Mark.

"Where is he?" Grandmama shot up from the edge of the bed in the small room.

Worry filled his weathered eyes. "I left word with the butler, but Mark won't be home until tomorrow night."

"She can't stay here," Grandmama hissed, her fear apparent. "There is illness everywhere. Why didn't you go find him?" She grabbed his lapels. "Tiger?"

She pushed herself up higher in bed and held his gaze. He didn't seem to hear Grandmama. "What is it?"

"The maid Becky." He sank onto the edge of the bed. "She was found dead in the cellar a couple nights ago."

She blinked in shock. "Mark didn't say anything. Did you ask Brigands what happened?" Oh god, surely someone would find a way to pin this on Mark.

"Likely to not distress you. He's being interrogated. The butler said he should return tomorrow night. Brigands gathered witnesses to back the claim that Becky spoke ill of Mark in the past week and seemed to behave oddly. The butler swears that it was suicide, but the law must investigate that Mark didn't have a hand in it."

She shook her head. "No, Becky didn't seem to care for Mark much, but she kept to herself. Why - "

Grandfather laid a hand over hers on the bed. "The butler confided in me because he said it would help you to not worry. Weeks ago when Mark came home, the butler caught the maid listening at the bedchamber door. Mark confided in him today that the maid had been blackmailing him to not repeat what she'd heard."

Oh god. Becky had heard her pry it out of Mark that he'd be assaulted in prison. Mark had never said a word about the blackmail.

"Mark apparently thought it harmless blackmail and conceded to her demands for an increase in salary. The maid made some kind of threat recently, so Mark refused to meet the money demands. Mark and Brigands both believe that the maid released the rumor, only she didn't realize that being under his employ, it would ruin her too. She took her life, perhaps as a means to implicate Mark."

She cupped her hand over her mouth in horror. No, no, no, no. Oh god. "Brigands and his wife moved back home. It'd only have been Mark and Becky in the house that night. How did she kill herself?"

Grandfather swallowed hard. "She slit her throat."

The blood drained from her face. If word got out that Becky had spread the rumors, Mark would be accused of revenge murder. He would still be suspected of murder.

"Mark is trying to convince the authorities of medical evidence that he couldn't have done it - the butler said Mark's theory is that, being left-handed, he couldn't have made the same cut as the right-handed maid. This is gruesome, but you will feel better knowing this: where the blade entered would have a deeper cut than where it exited."

Bless his soul, Mark was a genius. "And if he stood in front of her to cut her throat, the deepest cut would be across the middle instead of the side!" Yes, that might be his saving grace being left-handed. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer that the authorities would believe him.

* * *

"Why the hell do you have a woman with child in the same goddamn infirmary as influenza?!" a deep voice boomed the next evening.

She sat up in bed with a smile. It could only be Mark. Grandfather smiled, and relief spread over Grandmama's face.

A voice answered in a mumble just outside the room.

"I don't goddamn care if you want me in here or not, she's my wife! You call this an infirmary?! You disgust me. Get out of the way. I'm taking my wife." He barreled into the room, the nurse who pulled on his sleeve having little impact on his progress.

"You cannot take her! She is getting gangrene!" Another nurse stepped in front of him, blocking the path to the bed.

He glared down at the two women and probably could've breathed fire. "No thanks to you two!" He glanced at her and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Gangrene?! If she had gangrene, she sure as hell wouldn't be sitting up in bed and rosy cheeked! Is there anyone here who _is_ competent?! Get out!"

"But - "

"Get out! You can tell that shit-for-brains surgeon he can bite my ass if he thinks he's laying another goddamn hand on her!" He herded the women out with his cane and slammed the flimsy door.

Her heart melted at her foul-mouthed prince coming to the rescue. A wistful sigh escaped.

Grandfather burst out laughing.

Mark spun and took in the tiny room. "Jesus Christ, is this a goddamn closet?" He limped to the bed and eased his weight down. "What kind of quack job did they do in the last twenty-four hours?" he growled and lifted the worn-out hospital gown. "Oh, I'm sure this damn thing is sanitary," he snapped. Then his brow furrowed as he peeked under the bandage. "Goddamn morons. It's a miracle you haven't caught your death."

The stupid grin wouldn't go away. "Hello."

He glanced up and grunted. Then he pushed the sleeves of the oversized gown up and surveyed the injection bruises.

"Did you come to rescue me?" Giddy butterflies made the wound pain more bearable.

"Just in time, it seems," he grunted and turned to Grandfather. "Would you fetch my brace from the carriage? You'll get to it faster than I will. If some dumbass won't let you back in within three minutes, I'll come out."

Grandfather smiled and took Grandmama with him.

Mark palpated her belly and seemed content when the babe kicked in protest. "At least the idiots stopped labor," he muttered under his breath.

"Mark?"

Those blue eyes flicked to her.

"It hurts to lean forward and brush my belly on the blankets. Kiss me." She held out her arms.

Grief flashed across his face like it physically hurt to think of kissing.

"I know of Becky and that you must've proven yourself innocent. I don't feel well and have been in the hospital and without you for a week...just kiss me."

He leaned forward and set a hand on the bed, his heart obviously melting and unable to resist the plea.

When his lips touched hers, she cupped his face in her hands. An instinctual need surged - a need to feel the scratch of the light stubble on his jaw, to smell his musky aroma, to taste his woodsy flavor. "I missed you," she breathed between kisses.

"God, I've missed you." He pressed her back into the pillows and his tongue dove into her mouth with passion and need and longing.

"Ahem."

He pulled back, an adorably shy expression on his face at getting caught. It was so unlike him to be shy. Her heart melted.

Grandfather looked a bit embarrassed and Grandmama turned away. They must've been standing there for some time. He handed over Mark's bulky metal knee brace.

"Thank you." Mark put it on over his pant leg, buckling the straps and getting it in place efficiently now. It still hurt as much as the first time to see him in it. He stood and handed Grandfather the cane. "I'll help her dress and then get her out of here."

She took his hands as he braced his weight to help her up. Getting to her feet, she grabbed his arms when vision faded for a moment.

"Alright?" His arms wrapped around and steadied her.

"Just a bit dizzy. Your muscles feel good." She smiled up at him.

He snorted. "You must still be feverish."

"No, it went away yesterday." She raised her arms as he took off the nightgown and he leaned down to grab her dress. "Will you stay tonight? Or until I'm better?" Silence and sadness fell over his features again. "I'd remain naked if you do." She smiled in hopes of coaxing a glint of happiness from him.

He did crack a smile, but his eyes remained locked on finding the opening in her dress while he kept a steady arm around her. "You certainly won't leave this room if you remain naked."

"I wouldn't mind being trapped in here with you. It's barely large enough to stand. We'd have to spend all day and night in bed."

His cheeks grew pink. "You're feeling better, I see," he drawled. The man pulled the dress over her head and helped it fall over her belly.

"Oh, you're no fun!" She swatted his chest and laughed. If he remembered that she could make him smile and play and laugh, maybe he'd at least stay for a night or two. Just a little more time to convince him to take her home or runaway together.

"You are in no condition to engage in physical activities, much less one that could trigger contractions again." He leaned over her shoulder and buttoned up the back of the dress. It offered wonderful exposure of his neck.

Raising onto her toes, she braced her hands against his hard chest and kissed his throat right where his heartbeat pulsed.

He drew in a sharp breath and shivered. "Tanya." The tone wasn't playful.

Pulling back, she searched his eyes in confusion.

"I beg you, don't make this harder than it is," he whispered and leaned his forehead against hers as he closed his eyes.

"Mark?"

But he straightened and scooped her up. Without a word, he carried her out to the carriage. His poor limp grew worse in that short distance.

"Mark," Grandfather said and reached to take her.

"No, I'll carry her." He set her in the carriage, taking painstaking care to jostle as little as possible.

A contraction swept down. She bit her lip and grabbed Mark's sleeve.

He felt the babe. "She's too fragile to bounce in a carriage yet, but she isn't staying here." He stepped back and Grandmama and Grandfather squeezed in. "There's an infirmary a few miles north. It puts her closer to home, but there's a physician there whom I trust. He's experienced with wounds - more so than I - and will be able to heal her." He closed the door.

She shot forward and caught his hand out the window. "You're leaving?"

His eyes reddened with unshed tears. "If I come, you'll be turned away. Give your maiden name and don't tell them that I sent you. Dr. Monroe is his name."

"Wait! Will you come in a couple days?" Her heart beat faster in fear that he wouldn't.

He stepped to the window and cupped her face in his hands. "No one will receive me. I had to let Cook go because he was being ruined. Brigands refuses to go. Word has spread so far that we must travel for an hour to find a market that will receive us. Tanya, they say I have done things far more terrible than kill Anna."

"Then runaway with me to America or Spain or anywhere." Tears spilled over.

"You cannot travel for at least three months. I cannot protect you from the destruction that will be spread far beyond our reach within three months." A tear slipped down his cheek. "I wish for anything but this. Should things ever get better, I promise I'll come for you." He handed Grandfather an envelope.

It sounded like a goodbye. God, no. Please, no. "What do you mean? Mark?"

But he pulled free and hit the side of the carriage. It started forward.

She whipped around to where Grandfather opened the envelope.

"Oh no," he whispered.

Divorce papers. The reason: an unfaithful husband. It saved her from any scandal and the babe from being labeled a bastard. And destroyed what wasn't even left of his reputation.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note; Thanks for the reviews! I'm on a roll with writing right now.**

 **Tanya's grandparents are stuck between a rock and hard place. From what I researched about homosexuality in this time period, it really could Socially and economically devastate a family. I try to be as historically accurate as possible.**

* * *

This hospital had much better sanitation and the surgeon seemed extraordinarily skilled.

 _Standing in the fields of America, cool air swept over the green grasses. It'd been more than two years of no word from him and yet the winds failed to gust away the loneliness and loss. A tear slipped down. Mark would be happy here. Every day a letter went back to England. Word was he'd been chased away by the violence of the rumors, but no one knew or cared where he was. So the letters likely piled up on the front step. But they would be there waiting if he ever returned home, begging him to come to Colorado. Wrapping her arms around her empty belly, grief washed up. He'd missed the birth of the babe and the first smile_ _and first steps and first words. And he might not even be alive anymore._

 _Grandfather insisted on accepting a courtship from a good man and hunter in the tribe when inquiries turned up no signs of Mark anywhere. She looked down at the wedding ring on her finger, having never signed the divorce papers. Every month that passed without word from him snuffed out hope a little more. But he'd ruined her for ever loving another man._

 _Arms slipped around from behind. "My lady love," a deep caramel baritone whispered against her ear._

 _A sob escaped and she sank back against the familiar chest. The contours fit exactly as remembered. She closed her eyes and didn't move. It couldn't be real. After so long, he'd gotten the letters._

 _Turning around, she met those blue eyes that had grown even more beautiful. Hardship had deepened little creases in the corners of his eyes, but he otherwise looked exactly the same. Touching his face offered reassurance that he truly stood here._

 _He bent to rest his forehead against hers and cupped her face in hands a bit more calloused than they once were. "I promised I'd come for you," he whispered and brushed his lips over hers. His hand brushed over hers._

She startled and her eyes flew open. The hospital room. The door softly closed. Her hand still tingled from a touch. One hand was cold and the other warm like someone had been holding it. A faint scent of Mark hung in the air, but tricks of the mind often found Mark's scent these past four days where it wasn't really. Each night a sense that someone watched interrupted restless sleep. It wasn't a frightening feeling but a comforting one - almost as if Mark kept safe watch through the darkness of the night.

Something tiny sat in the chair next to the bed. Pushing up, she leaned over and picked up the soft item not much bigger than her hand. Sitting forward to catch the light from the hall, tears fell to the bed. A yellow plush horse sized for a little child's hands. She cradled it to her chest, praying this wasn't a sign of his final goodbye.

The next afternoon, she stood behind Grandmama and Grandfather at the desk in the middle of the busy hospital corridor. Grandfather used the last of the substantial coin purse that he said Mark had given the day she'd left the house two weeks ago. The hospital bill cost more money than she'd ever seen. With a sigh, she looked around and rubbed the ache in her back as the nurse counted the coins. A gorgeous rose painting hung across the hall.

Holding the treasured toy horse to her chest, she wandered to the painting. A single white rose. It was unconventional, but the detail of leaf veins and dewdrops on the petals mesmerized. More shades of white than should exist blended a magnificent palette of reality. Someone bumped into her from behind. "Oh!"

"I beg your pardon - "

She turned just as he did. Surprised blue eyes looked back at her. "Mark." Her heart took off.

"Tanya? Why aren't you in bed?" Then he cleared his throat and composed himself. "Did I hurt you?" His eyes dropped to her belly.

With a smile, she shook her head. He wore his cloak like he was on his way in or out. "And to answer your question, I'm escaping."

He blinked, apparently speechless.

"I'm teasing," she giggled. "The surgeon said I can leave. Grandfather's paying." She pointed to the desk.

"Leave?" A devastated expression overtook his features.

"Yes. You'll have to come at night to an inn."

The man schooled his expression. "I don't know what you mean."

She smiled and stroked the little horse. The man wasn't a good liar. "Is he for me or the babe?"

"Who says I - "

The smiled faded and she held his eyes. "Because you wouldn't send me to the hospital if it wasn't serious. And you wouldn't leave me alone in the hospital."

He didn't react to that comment, but looked at the horse. "For the babe, but it looks like someone else is attached." Then he looked at her and a tiny twinkle glinted in his eye.

A flush crept up. "What are you doing here?"

"Sandy came down with a severe case of mastitis. I sent her here. She was my only and last patient. Englewood is excellent in many things, but not in female medicine. I thought I'd check in on her. She's due to be released tomorrow."

"I'm glad she's alright now." She reached out a hand. "I miss you."

Not a muscle moved. "Should I be recognized, it's best to not have any kind of contact other than socially polite." A wall went up, almost as though masking his pulsating loneliness would make it hurt less.

For his sake, she dropped her hand. "Yes, Mark." A tease like days gone by would make him smile.

Instead, his eyes closed for an instant and his brow furrowed in pain. "Please," he whispered.

Tears stung at seeing him grieving so hard. It made it all hit home. He truly wasn't going to come back. "I won't sign the papers."

His eyes opened...to reveal a vacant, hollow expression of that beyond hopelessness. "Soon enough you'll have no choice."

Setting a hand on her lower back for support, she opened her mouth.

"Do you have back pains?" His eyes darted to her hand.

"We've been standing in line for the better part of an hour. The babe's getting so big that I can't stand for too long."

"Wait a moment." He limped over to Grandmama, who beamed a smile at him and nodded when he said something. Then he returned. "Come sit." He set a hand on her shoulder and guided her down the hall and around a corner to a bench.

She set a hand on the armrest and used his proffered hand to sit. "Gracefulness is a quality I no longer possess," she said with hot cheeks.

He eased himself onto the bench, keeping proper distance. "No matter how much the babe inhibits your movement, gracefulness will never be something you're left wanting. You're as beautiful as how I suspect you look without child."

Her heart melted.

She set the horse on the bench, turned her bulk toward him and rested her hands on her belly. "How are you? And not a social answer but the real answer."

He propped his hands on the cane and stared at the floor. "A portion of the house burned down," he said without emotion. Strain crept into the lines of his profile.

She blinked. "Burned?"

He nodded. "Rocks have been breaking windows at night. Brigands still refused to go. A couple nights ago, it seems someone intentionally started the fire."

"Did you get hurt?" She set a hand on his arm.

He shook his head and met her eyes. "I wasn't asleep, so I was able to contain it to half of the house."

The beautiful house. Their home. "Is it inhabitable?"

"It's salvageable what is left. However, I think it best to cut the losses and sell it for what it's worth before the entire thing is burned to the ground. I saved the book from your mother and her paints."

"Those are just things. You shouldn't have been in there trying to get them." She scooted closer. "Stay at an inn. It's not safe to live there."

He nodded. "Brigands is putting me up for the time being. He's outraged on my behalf. I'm almost relieved that it's gone - the only reason I bought it was because we moved here when Anna became ill."

"Is the country estate untouched?"

He nodded. "It's an hour north, and I've never inhabited it for more than a day or two. People likely don't know it's mine."

She frowned. "It wasn't your father's?"

A deep sigh. "My father did not approve of my profession and left the estate to a distant cousin. I believe he pitied me when Anna died, or he approved of me returning to the banking industry, because he left all coin to me." His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I actually purchased the country estate a month before I came for you - I expected to move out."

A laugh bubbled up. "Can you go live there? If it's more secluded, perhaps you'll have a better time there."

"Perhaps. I'm reluctant to stay with him for long and cause him and his wife to burn in their beds."

She set a hand over his. "I'll come to the country estate with you. I'm almost to confinement, so no one would see me anyways to figure out who we are."

He shook his head and took her hand with regret shining in his eyes. "Tanya, this will follow me everywhere. An hour away is only a matter of weeks before the rumors catch up to me."

Grandfather came around the corner. Mark stood and said, "If I may have a word?" he took Grandfather down the hall a bit and handed him a coin purse.

Grandmama sat as the two men talked. "Did he say if things are better?"

She shook her head and stroked the babe. "Someone tried to burn down the house and nearly succeeding in losing all of it."

Grandmama gave a small nod. "I heard the rumors." Worry clouded her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't speak of my husband's finances, but we didn't expect to stay in England for this long. Your grandfather is a proud man, but even he is acknowledging that the money is out."

She looked at Mark. He'd lost the profit of the bank. The loss of the house would've been a terrible financial hit. He likely needed the sale to have funds to run the country estate. He probably didn't have any extra funds to give away. She hurried over just as Grandfather pocketed some large banknotes. "No. I can get a job - "

Mark's eyes flashed. "You will do no such thing, especially in your condition."

She pulled him aside. "But after losing the bank and house, there can't be much money left. I learned as a child how to put food on the table. I - "

"Am in these straights because of me," he said in a firm tone. "I will provide for you and that babe. Not another word."

He'd provided enough for another hospitalization and months after the birth.

"Tanya, there's a snowstorm coming. We should get back to the inn." Grandfather pulled on his gloves.

Two women walked past and whispered, "He's the one who finds little boys at night. She's probably a harlot looking to sell her babe to him."

She whirled on him in horror. My god, the rumors had gotten out of control. Then she glared at the women hurrying down the hall. Someone had damn well better start setting people straight. She took a step forward.

"No." Mark caught her arm. "Do not get involved." Then he looked at Grandfather and ordered, "Make sure the divorce papers are signed before the end of the month."

Grandfather set a hand on Mark's shoulder. "I wish things were different - you are a good man for her. But I do not know the ways of England well enough to fight should she and the babe be tied to this scandal. Should things change, you will be welcomed to our family. Right now, the only way I know to protect her is to deny any contact."

"What? No!" She grabbed Mark's arm in pure panic.

Mark forced his back straighter like he tried to hide the pain from that knife. "I would not respect you if you didn't watch out for her. Funds will be wired every month. Should she or the babe need anything more, you know where to reach my bank." He offered a handshake.

More people passed and glanced like they recognized Mark.

A pained look crossed Grandfather's face and he gave Mark an apologetic look as he ignored the handshake and took her arm. "Lily, come," he said to Grandmama.

Mark withdrew his hand and dropped his gaze to the ground, obviously struggling to mask the shame. He took a step back to the appropriate distance for someone unwelcomed. Rather than walking away, he stayed and allowed time for witnesses to see the rejection. For her sake.

Tears burned and her throat constricted. His damn chivalry knew no bounds. Grandfather pulled her down the hall as Mark stood there all alone in the bustle of the hall. His eyes glistened with tears, and he didn't seem to notice as people bumped into him while his gaze remained locked on her.

Jerking free, she pushed through and flung her arms around his neck and gave him no choice but to accept the kiss. Then she looked into his eyes. "I love you. Come for me. I'll wait a hundred years."

His face crumpled and he pressed his lips together like the words meant the world to him.

Grandfather pulled her away. She didn't break eye contact until the crowd swallowed him up.

He stood there even after she disappeared into the crowd. Breathe. Oh god, it hurt to breathe. It'd been hard enough knowing that an occasional bump in public would be the only contact, but her grandfather had made it clear that even that would no longer happen. Her grandfather would see to a divorce and then sweep her and the babe away to America as soon as she recovered from childbirth. Her grandfather knew of some good Englishmen in Colorado and in the tribe who might consider courting her. The sooner she started courting and moving on with her life, the better things would be for her and the babe. Hope had held out that perhaps things would get better or little things would come up where her grandfather would summon him to come to her...but that was over now. Financial ruin threatened now on top of everything if he couldn't find work within the next months. If worse came to worse, the sale of the country estate would bring in enough funds to see Tanya and the babe through for a few years. If things became that dire, it wouldn't matter what became of him. He didn't care anymore, if life came down to being a sea apart from Tanya. If God had mercy, his damn knee would require an amputation and infection would set in. Life had at least been hollow and empty without Anna. Without Tanya, it wouldn't even be worth living.

He limped over to the bench, unable to breathe and smother the threatening tears. The horse sat on the bench. She'd forgotten her beloved horse. Picking it up, a string caught and split the chest wide open. "I know how you feel," he whispered and sank into a chair nearby. He clutched her prized horse to his chest, needing some of the comfort that she seemed to find in it. It didn't matter anymore who saw him fall apart as the world shattered. The sobs came.

It seemed like hours later. His head throbbed and knee ached, but he pushed himself up. One foot in front of the other. He made his way down the crowded hall and past the front desk when his ears honed in on a voice.

"I left him on a bench. He's yellow and this big..."

He turned and scanned the mass of people. That voice. There. The most beautiful woman stood at the front desk and rubbed her belly in distress.

"No one's turned him in?" Tanya sounded close to tears.

"No, I'm sorry," the nurse said. "They sell those at the market outside - "

'I wanted that one." Her shoulders sagged and she turned away, brushing at her eyes as he pushed through the people.

She turned and there he was - not only the horse but the thing that she truly missed. Pushing her way through, she flung her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. "You're still here." Then she let go and frowned. His eyes had a slight red puffiness like he'd been weeping.

He took a step back and held out the horse. "His string got caught," he explained, his voice still thick from tears.

Taking the horse without looking, she searched his eyes. "Mark - "

"You shouldn't be seen with me. Your grandparents are waiting."

"I don't care - "

"Would you do me one thing?"

She stilled in surprise. "Anything."

His eyes fell to her belly. "Ask your grandfather to let me know if it's a boy or girl, and that you're alright from the birth."

Her chest heaved. This was it. "You're not going to fight for me?"

Tears welled in his eyes. "Tanya, I'm so far gone that there's no coming back from this."

"America - "

"It would reach America eventually. Towns there keep in contact with family from England. I don't want you to wait for me because you will be waiting decades for me to rebuild my life, if I even can."

She cupped a hand over her mouth as her face crumpled and she shook her head. He just couldn't see the light anymore. They had pulled him so far down that he couldn't get out by himself. But he didn't have to. Squaring her shoulders, she brushed away the tears. She'd figure out a plan. It might not happen in weeks or months, but this wasn't the end. It couldn't be.

"Tanya, it's time to go." Grandmama appeared and took her arm. "We will take care of her," she promised with sadness deepening her tone.

His chest heaved and for the first time, he had no strength left. He hurried out the doors with a hand over his mouth.

Tears slipped down seeing him fall as they destroyed him. He didn't seem to care about any of that but...losing her. He'd professed love, but never did it occur that it could ever be a love equal to what she felt. The kind not from obligation or infatuation or friendship...but the kind that would survive forever. Her feet anchored to the ground as it hit - he didn't push her away because it was the chivalrous thing to do to not let her go down in flames with him. He did it because he knew if he asked that she would stay, but he wanted a better life for her. Even though it meant his heart would shatter and he'd die all alone in a house without anyone there or anyone caring. He'd never stepped in harm's way out of duty - it'd been out of love even though he hadn't realized it himself. And now he sentenced himself to a life in his own hell in hope that she'd find a better life and happiness.

Because he loved her with his whole heart and soul.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I know these are hard chapters, but it's setting things up. I promise it'll be worth it.**

* * *

Grandfather found a little cottage to rent that stretched funds farther than living at an inn. She waited almost two weeks for Mark to make some kind of contact. A small coin purse arrived but no note or anything. The damn man kept true to his word of not risking her reputation by association. Every day, Grandfather insisted on signing the divorce papers. Every day, she threw them in the fire. He soon wised up and approached with papers that didn't matter if she burned them.

In a fine fit one day after hunting for the true divorce papers to burn them and coming up with nothing, she sat at the kitchen table with paper and quill.

 _Mark,_

 _I will not write 'dear' because you are not in my good graces. I have waited two weeks to hear from you._

 _I don't give a damn that the rumors say you've gone mad. Rumors are rumors, and there is a fine line between mad and genius. I heard you stayed in the house and sold the country estate. I'd say you're an idiot, but you must have reason for staying. If you're not locked up in your house trying to come up with a plan to come for me, you'd damn well better start. I'm not going to sit here and be a damsel in distress. As soon as the babe comes and I can walk, I will sneak out of this cottage at night and walk to your house if I must._

 _The surgeon says the babe will come within the next couple weeks - almost six weeks early. I'm not giving birth that early and having a stillborn, so you'd better get over here and stop him from coming. Grandfather is giving me food that he says will keep the babe in longer._

 _I'm not signing the divorce papers. If you're the one sending Grandfather new copies, you can stop - it's a waste of good paper and the cottage gets warm burning them every day._

 _I'm too angry at you to sign this. Stop being an idiot and come._

There. The stupid man needed some sense knocked into him.

Two days later, a large coin purse arrived. And another fat purse two days after that. Still no note or sign of him.

A few days later, the sun shined and snow melted, offering a taste of spring. "You need some things for the babe. Let's go to the market."

Her eyebrows rose as Grandmama knelt and put her shoes on being she couldn't do it herself anymore with the babe in the way. Constant back pains kept her in bed the last couple days from what the surgeon declared as kidney stones. Mark still hadn't written, and Grandfather took every letter that she tried to send. "Grandmama, I don't think that it's wise to go out, particularly with kidney stone surgery and possibly a cesarean section tomorrow." Although a distraction would help with the fear that something would go wrong tomorrow.

"Nonsense. It would do you good to get out of here and not think about surgeries. We will go baby shopping. More money came yesterday. I swear we must be rich by now." Grandmama unbuttoned the back of her dress. "We'll put more of this cream from the surgeon on to help with the pain and then get you busy."

How Mark came by all this money so suddenly surely wasn't something she wanted to know.

The cream did help as much as the fresh air and distraction of the market. "Oh, Grandmama, look!" She stroked the softest yarn ever felt. A wood rattle at the next merchant's stand caught her eye. "Oh! Look at that!"

"Tanya, come look at this!" Grandmama grabbed her arm and pulled her across the path to a merchant who sold lanterns.

She frowned. "We don't need a lantern. Oh!" Grandmama pushed her to the side on purpose! She bumped shoulders with someone. "I'm sorry - " Mark.

He blinked in surprise and a longing smile burst out of him. "Tanya." Then he remembered himself. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Grandmama push - " She turned but Grandmama was nowhere in sight. Huh. She turned back to him. "What are you doing here? You're quite far from home."

He had an armload of goodies. "Oh," he looked down, as if he'd forgotten about his burden. "I, well, I was going to send these to you."

"Me?"

"Babes need a lot. They spit up at least five times a day, wet their nappies ten times..." He turned his head to look down at the side of the armful. "There were these little rattles and the train is for when she's older, but I couldn't resist. And babes' skin burns easier than ours in the summer, so she needs hats...I guess I got a little carried away." He blushed.

"You sound like you know a lot about babies," she laughed.

A shy smile tugged at his lips. "I've been picking the brains of mothers all morning. I'm sure the merchants talked me into things that probably aren't needed."

"Why are you out here? This must be almost two hours from home."

"Your grandmother wrote and said this is a good market to find things for the babe. Are you shopping for the babe too?"

So Grandmama had set this up. "Um, yes."

"How have you been?"

"How are you?!" Grandmama came over with arms wide and greeted Mark with a kiss on the cheek.

He blinked but gave a polite nod. "Yourself, madam?"

Grandmama gave a gentle elbow in the ribs. "The only man I've ever met who is always the gentleman." Then she turned her brilliant smile onto Mark. "I'm excited to be a great-grandmama. Are you baby shopping too?"

"Grandmama," she said under her breath in embarrassment.

Mark smiled and showed the treasures, although he glanced at her once with a puzzled expression over Grandmama's warm demeanor.

"The babe and Tanya will love all of it!"

"He didn't say it was all for us," she whispered. "Really, Grandmama, he sends hundreds of pounds and it is enough."

"What is it you English say? Oh yes - rubbish! He's as smitten with you as you are with him! Of course it's all for you and the babe."

That look of pain flashed across Mark's face again, and he wouldn't make eye contact. "I'm keeping you ladies from your shopping. Shall I put these in your carriage?"

"That would be so sweet of you. Tanya, show him where the carriage is." Then Grandmama swept away into the crowd for more shopping - likely farse shopping.

Awkward silence.

"Please, lead the way." His tone remained polite, but his heartache was palpable.

She led the way and then fell into step with him when the crowd thinned near the outskirts. His limp slowed him down more than usual. She glanced down. No brace or cane, but his knee didn't bend. "Your cane - did you forget it?"

"No, I've been practicing with a different brace made of less metal and more leather. It fits under clothes. I've found this one to be more tolerable to use for prolonged periods of time rather than the cane."

"Is it getting any better?"

He kept his eyes forward and seemed a bit uncomfortable with the topic. "It is healed to what it will be. I can walk, so I can't complain."

"Mark, I'm sorry. I wish every day that maybe if I'd fought a little harder - "

"You had little chance against five men." Then he held her eyes for a moment. "There's not a day that I regret what I traded this for."

Her. A sad smile tugged. Such a dear man. "Do you need me to carry anything?"

"No," he said quickly. Then he almost smiled. "I received your letter."

A flush of embarrassment swept up, and she covered her cheeks with her hands. "Goodness, I'm not sure I'm glad you did get it. I was in a mood when I wrote it." She pointed to their carriage on the side of the road and stopped beside it.

He failed to smother a smile. "So I noticed. Somehow I would not expect a letter to say anything else from you." Then his smile faded and worry wrinkled his brow. "You never answered how you and the babe are. Is something wrong that the surgeon thinks you'll give birth early?"

Dropping her eyes to the ground, she stroked the babe. He'd only worry about something he couldn't do anything about, and Grandfather wouldn't let Mark come. Her stomach churned at the thought of having the babe without him there, of surgery, of pain...of the good chance she wouldn't wake up from the high-risk surgery. Then she looked up and searched those blue eyes, not sure if he should know or not. The ache for him poured out so strong that she couldn't speak. Raising to her toes, she cupped his face. Everything in his arms spilled at their feet as he caught her in his arms.

She kissed with the passion of a hundred moments like this that had been lost for the past month and the thousands more that may never come. A wave of pain hit from the cream wearing off. With a soft gasp, she let go and stepped back. Grabbing a handful of her cloak, she bowed her head and closed her eyes as she held her breath against the sharp pain.

He reached across the gap and tilted her chin up.

The pain eased a bit and she pulled away in embarrassment. He didn't need to know.

Those blue eyes squinted as his gaze narrowed. "You're in pain."

"My back sometimes acts up from the babe," she lied. Thankfully Grandmama walked over. "Grandmama, are you done shopping?" she asked, desperate to leave before she spilled it all or threw herself in his arms.

"Yes, dear. You look tired. Are you ready to go?" She looked from her to Mark.

With a nod, she turned to Mark. "Thank you for the gifts. And the funds."

"Tanya," he pleaded.

She opened the carriage door and held on to haul her bulk in and sat. "Grandfather will let you know when the babe's born." Odds are it would be tomorrow, and there'd never be a chance to tell him herself.

Grandmama got in and looked from her to Mark in confusion.

A tap to the roof set the carriage in motion.

"Tanya!" He grabbed the door, but his limp prevented him from keeping up. The carriage pulled away and he stood there in the road, his eyes wide in horror as he seemed to understand the hidden meaning in her words.

Grandmother sat back from leaning out the window to see Mark and frowned at her. "Did you tell him about the surgery?"

Staring out the window, she brushed away a tear. "What good would it do for him to know? To worry?"

"He could give another opinion, if nothing else."

"As if Grandfather would listen to his opinion," she snorted.

"He would if Mark says there's a safer way to save you. Stop!" Grandmama hit the roof.

The carriage lurched to a halt. "What are you doing?!"

Grandmama climbed out. "Mark!"

"Grandmama, stop it!" She scooted over and peeked out.

Mark hurried down the road as fast as he could, slightly breathless when he arrived. "What's wrong?"

"Tell him." Grandmama set her hands on her hips and glared at her from beside Mark.

"Tell me what?" Wide blue eyes flew to her.

"Get in the carriage and don't let her out until she tells you the two things happening with the surgeon tomorrow." Grandmama held the door while he climbed in and then she marched away.

He sat across the carriage and took her hands. "Tanya, what's wrong with the babe?"

Holding his hands made the walls crumble and everything blurred behind the tears. "Nothing's wrong with the babe - " The last word came out in a gasp as she clutched his hands during a sharp bolt of pain up her back.

He countered her grip and slid into the seat beside her, pulling her close with one arm and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Breathe, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice unsteady. He touched her quiet belly and his hand tightened in hers as she panted and leaned against his chest. When it passed, he asked in a thick voice, "What's wrong with you, Tanya?"

"He probably has to take the babe out tomorrow." She sniffled and rested a cheek against his chest. The fear finally let loose in the safety of his arms.

"Why?" He whispered patiently.

"Kidney stones have damaged a kidney. He said he has to take it out and the babe may not tolerate the surgery." Her lip quivered as his grip tightened. "He said I'll die without the surgery."

"Jesus, Tanya, the first kidney removal happened only a few years ago, and the patient died from infection. A successful one hasn't happened yet. Your grandmother arranged for us to meet today, didn't she? I don't care what your grandfather says - "

Grandmama stepped up to the window. "I see she told you. We've consulted two surgeons. Do you agree with them?"

He kept his arms around her. "As her husband, I will not let her return with you until I examine her and the babe."

A smile spread across Grandmama's lips and she climbed in the carriage. "How good of you." She tapped the roof.

Mark reached to carry her into the cottage, but even the light brush against her side cased a cry of pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, love." He took her hands and helped her inside.

"What are you doing here?!" Grandfather boomed at the door.

He gingerly set an arm around her and countered her firm grasp of his hand. "Saving my wife. She's in pain, so let me get to examining her. If you try to stop me, I will invoke my bondslave rights to her. I should think you value her life and will help me."

"What do you mean 'save' her?" Grandfather's eyes widened.

"A nephrectomy has yet to be done without the patient dying," Mark snapped.

Grandfather paled. "They never said that." He hurried forward and opened her bedroom door.

Mark helped her sit on the edge of the bed and then opened up the back of her dress. "I need to check for bruising." Then he palpated the side that didn't hurt before doing the other.

A soft cry of pain and he stopped and sat on the bed in front and palpated the babe. "When did it start?" He asked a battery of questions and then turned to Grandfather. "What's her diet?" As Grandfather answered, Mark sighed and ran a hand over his face. "That's not a diet she's used to. I agree that she has kidney stones, but I disagree that the next step is surgery. Her kidney is swollen - a bit."

Grandfather frowned. "We use herbs back home for that."

Mark shook his head. "We use water. I don't understand, though, why you aren't writhing in pain." He frowned.

"The surgeon gave a cream to use a few times a day." She held her side and pointed to the container on the dresser.

Mark got up, opened the can and took a sniff. Then he slammed the can down. "This has morphine. It's a wonder the babe is able to respond to any stimuli."

She frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means this is too potent for the babe. At least you've only been using it sporadically for a couple days. Bring a pitcher of water and a glass."

Grandmama hurried out, and Mark took off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. Grandfather frowned when Mark handed her a glass of water and sat in the chair beside the bed. "Drink."

"This is your medicine?" Grandfather snapped.

"Her kidney isn't blocked. We see if she can flush it out on her own. I'm staying to monitor until it's out."

She drank and then set down the glass. "How do we know it's out?"

Mark picked it up and filled it again. "Unfortunately, you'll feel it work its way out when you use the washroom. You must tell me if the pain gets worse because we don't want your kidney to get blocked and swell up."

Grandfather ran a hand through his hair in distress. "This is not what the surgeon said. I never did anything with kidneys - "

"You should've listened to me and fetched Mark," Grandmama hissed.

Another wave of pain hit and she closed her eyes and clutched the sheets.

"It doesn't matter. I'm here now." Mark's hand slipped into hers.

They left the room and the pain passed a moment later. But she didn't let go of his hand. "Mark - "

He got up and found a chamber pot. "I need you to use this so I can monitor if any stones come through - "

"Mark, don't avoid me."

The man set down the pot and leaned his hip against the dresser but avoided her eyes. "Tanya, don't."

"I damn will!"

"Don't curse." His voice held no conviction and his shoulders slumped.

"I learned it from you. Where is all the money coming from?"

He just shook his head.

"Why are you still living there? What if someone else comes to burn the rest of it?"

He bowed his head.

"Why aren't you coming for me?!" Angry tears spilled over. "Do you understand that they want to take me to America and marry me to someone else?! That - "

"Because I told them to!" he snapped, his eyes shooting sparks of rage. He thrust a finger at the ground and his neck reddened. "I told them to get you the hell out of here as fast as they can because you're going down with me!" He flung out a hand. "You should hear the things they say about you in town! You're almost as much of a monster as I am!"

"Then tell them the truth!"

He shot to the bed and grabbed her upper arms. His eyes crackled and he hissed, "There are no words to fix this. We're ruined! Wherever we run, it will catch us! Even in America!"

"There has to be _something_!"

Getting up, he left the room and came back with papers. He dropped them in her lap and set down a quill. "Sign it."

Divorce papers. "No!" She looked up at him in horror.

"Sign it! The only chance you have of escaping this is for everyone to think you divorced me!"

"I won't sign it," she hissed and glared at him through the tears. When she moved to shred it, he snatched it away and threw them across the room. He ran his hands through his hair, looking so absolutely panicked. Then he turned and pointed at her with tears shimmering in his eyes. "You said you love me! How is that love to make me watch you burn with me?!"

"How is it love to abandon you?!" Tears poured out.

He fetched the papers and quill and set them in her lap. Then he worked his way to his knees. The tear that rolled down his cheek had the power to tear out her heart. "Please. I beg you. I don't know what's going to happen to me. They could come burn the house at night or sent me to the gallows for some heinous crime I didn't commit. Please, Tanya, give me the peace of knowing you are protected. Please."

Her face crumpled and she shook her head. "I love you."

"If you love me, you won't make me suffer this terror every day of not knowing when they'll come after you." He cupped her face in his hands. "Please. I have no other way to protect you and the babe. I know you love me. Sign, Tanya. God, please give me that. If I should die, please don't make my last moments terrified of what will happen to you - let my last moments be remembering your love." Another tear ran down his cheek.

"Don't talk like that," she sobbed.

"Tanya, please. Please." His voice cracked.

He never begged, and he never was terrified. Things were closing in on him if he now began to fear for her life. Love meant breaking your own heart to do what was best for the other. So she took the quill from him and wept as she signed her married name for the last time.


	25. Chapter 25

Poor Tanya had a lot of pain passing the kidney stones, but she did it by the next morning. She'd been angry and devastated when he'd sent her grandfather to deliver the divorce papers to a lawyer, but she'd still clung and wept when he'd left. She had no idea of his plan. If God had any mercy, it would work or he'd meet his Maker swiftly.

Her grandfather had looked shocked when he'd slipped him three tickets to board a boat leaving for America in two days, but he'd sworn that no matter what, he'd get Tanya on that boat. She and the babe were sound for now and two days would give her time to rest from the kidney stones. But time was running out fast. Staying in England was no longer an option for her. News of the divorce would spread within twenty-four hours. She could flee and no one would think anything of it. The gossip, his rumored madness being locked in the house of ruins, Tanya leaving, the divorce...no one would question why he'd kill himself.

He knocked on Brigands' door after dark.

A loud scrape like Brigands moved a barricade and opened the door. "Sir? Thank God. You won't open the door when I call. Are you alright?" Tears welled in the old man's eyes. "I heard she filed divorce papers. I tell you she doesn't understand. She loves you. Go to her and explain - "

Good. The news of the divorce had already spread - she needed that on her side. "Take these." He held out two tickets. "It's not safe here for you and Teresa anymore. Take whatever you can carry and be there the morning after tomorrow. Tanya and her grandparents are going to America." Then he gave Brigands a large coin purse. "It will at least hold you over until you can get on your feet."

"What?" The man's eyes widened in shock and Teresa came to the door. "What about you?"

A lump formed in his throat. If things didn't work, this would be the last time seeing Brigands. "Promise me that you'll look out for Tanya. Make sure she finds a good husband." His voice broke. He surprised himself as he jerked the old man close and hugged him tight. "You were always my father, always the one to carry me when I'd scrap my knee, always the one who had time to give me advice..." Tears threatened. "I never thanked you for leaving Father to come with me when he disowned me," he whispered.

Brigands held tight. "Even during the darkest nights, I didn't regret not leaving you. Come with us. We will convince Tanya that you're the good man she thought." He pulled back and held him by the shoulders. "The night is too dark for you to see right now, but she truly loves you. It's a love unlike any you've known. She will not turn you away if she understands you haven't done what they say. Go to her."

He brushed at his eyes and shook his head. "The destruction will reach across the sea if I go. I can't go with her, and I'm going down in flames. The only chance she has is to leave. Let people see you get on the boat. Make sure they know I'm not going with her so she's safe from scorn." Then he backed up. "Promise me that you'll take care of her."

"I promise, but don't go. We'll figure something out." Brigands followed out onto the front step, panic glinting in his eyes.

He shook his head and climbed on the black horses that blended into the night.

"My lord, I beg of you, don't make us abandon you."

Swallowing hard, he reined in the horse who pranced underfoot, sensing his own distress. "If you look after her, then you haven't abandoned me." He kicked the horse. "God save me," he whispered and rode into the night.

* * *

He wandered the house the next day. The library shelves from floor to ceiling, once full of hundreds and hundreds of leather books that Tanya loved so dearly, were now empty. Those books were now scattered around England bookstores in exchange for a small fortune that had bought everyone's boat tickets.

The echo of his boots clicking on the marble foyer floor brought back memories of Tanya's vivacious laugh ringing off the walls. Instead of the lovely scent of fresh flowers that she'd kept in the house, the stench of charred wood still filled the air. A Christmas tree was supposed to adorn the far corner and stretch up the sides of the stairwell, but this Christmas had come and gone without notice. He'd intended to have the house decorated when she woke up Christmas morning and see her face light up like a child's. She had never lost that child's wonder, his Tanya.

His hands shook. His hands never shook. If things went wrong tonight... He slammed the door on that thought and touched Tanya's precious book from her mother tucked inside his suit jacket. He'd sawed off the head of his cane with her loving inscription and kept it in his pocket. Those would bring comfort having a pieces of her close to hold as he died. Odd how as he faced death, it was Tanya whose memories surrounded. Not Anna's.

He made the final laborious journey up the stairs and to the washroom. Picking up scissors, he ran a hand through his hair in the wrong direction. Then he took the scissors to his hair and hacked.

* * *

Night fell. Night had become the most dangerous time. The darkest time. Night was when the wolves came out for blood.

He sat on the edge of the bed. It was safer on the second floor, away from rocks smashing through windows. At half past two, a house fire would go unnoticed for hours - long enough to burn everything. Rubbing his chin, he released a slow sigh. Two days' worth of beard stubble covered his jaw. A strange peace - or perhaps madness - settled. He sat and waited for the clock to strike one.

At quarter after two, a window downstairs smashed. Cheering. He peeked down below. A couple drunk men who had come every night to throw rocks sat on their horses in the drive. Every muscle tensed. Good. They were drunk enough to not ride straight. Witnesses would be even better.

With eerie calmness, he took the lantern. Burning the house from the middle-out would ensure everything was ash before any help arrived to stop the fire. Starting in the closet, he held one of his shirts to the flame. The flame lapped and took hold. From room to room, he started a fire in each closet and left the doors open so the flames could dance and multiply. It didn't take long for one hallway wing to roar with flames as Hell came to life.

He stopped in Tanya's doorway in the other wing. This room held too many memories. This one would be too painful to burn. So he closed the door and walked down the hall. The fire soon flickered into that hallway wing too, driving up the temperature in the house. Smoke began to obscure vision. Dragging a sleeve over his brow, he coughed from the smoke that began to roll through the air and headed for the stairs.

A loud crash downstairs. Laughter came from outside. Black smoke floated up the stairwell. "What the hell?" He ran around the corner and stopped at the landing, the thundering of his heart drowned out by the roar of the flames. Oh god. They hadn't thrown rocks in but fire. The downstairs was already consumed in flames. The stairwell had been the means of escape, but the blistering heat drove him back. He whirled. Fire came from every direction.

Oh Jesus. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Everything was supposed to burn according to his layout and he'd escape through a window downstairs into the night. He was supposed to sneak onto the boat in disguise and go to America with Tanya while everyone thought him dead. They'd start over with new names with her grandparents and Brigands and his wife. It was supposed to be a chance to start over, to give Tanya a life without scorn and be the husband she deserved. He grabbed the cane handle out of his pocket, needing to feel her love, to hold onto her in these final moments.

The floor groaned as fire from below began to swallow it up. The smoke made it hard to breath and burned his eyes, making tears run down. Sweat dripped from heat so intense it hurt. "Nooooo!" The scream ripped out with terror and grief. He banged on the wall. By some miracle it might have weakened from the fire below and would give away to the outside. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to truly leave her a widow.

Glass shattered downstairs as the fire lapped through the windows. The wood down the hall groaned and threatened to buckle. A massive crash exploded as the roof caved in down the hallway. The weight of it was too much and the floor gave away under his feet. "Nooooo! Tanyaaaaa!"


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: I'm writing chapters as fast as I can! :) I'm about to leave to go out of state, so I'll catch up on personal thank yous with the next chapter!**

* * *

"No! I won't go without Mark!" She yanked her wrists free from Grandmama in the carriage at the boat docks.

"Child, hush. You must trust that he knows what he is doing," Grandfather said.

Brigands appeared at the carriage door.

She shot out and flung her arms around him and Teresa. "Did Mark send you for me?" she sniffled and pulled back when Brigands didn't answer.

His and his wife's eyes were red like they'd been crying.

"What's wrong?" Her heart stopped. "Is it about Mark?"

"He sent us to go with you to America. I can't find employment and no one will receive us." Brigands swallowed hard and a tear fell. "He begged me to make sure you get on the boat."

"Why are you crying? What happened?" She spun to his wife in a panic.

"Let's go to your cabin and talk in private." Teresa led her toward the dock.

She looked over her shoulder. Brigands said something to Grandfather, who shook his head and covered a hand over his mouth. Grandmama turned her head into Grandfather and her shoulders shook. "What - ?"

"Come, my lady. We need to tell you something." The woman wiped her eyes. "The master wanted you on this boat. Please come."

A terrible sense of dread washed up. Mark had gotten her a room above deck. Grandfather opened her door with tears in his eyes. Grandmama quietly wept into a handkerchief. Brigands drew a shaky breath and another tear fell from his eyes as his wife clung to his shoulder.

She shook her head and backed up. Something had happened to Mark. Tears welled, but if she didn't go in the room to find out, it wouldn't be real for a few more minutes. "He's fine. He came the day before yesterday. He seemed happy while shopping for baby things at the market, like he had a plan." She gulped in air against the pain in her chest.

Brigands stepped forward and took her hand as he held her eyes. "He came to my house two nights ago. He wanted you to have a chance for a good life. I have to believe that he did have a plan and would've come for you one day."

"What do you mean 'would've'? Where is he?" Her chest heaved.

He wrapped his arms around her. "You need to sit." He and Grandfather guided her into the room.

Grandmama and Teresa sat on the bed on each side and put their arms around her, ignoring their own tears.

Oh god. No. She shook her head.

Grandfather knelt and took her hand as tears streamed down his face.

Brigands took her other hand and his voice cracked. "There was a fire last night." He swallowed hard and sniffled. "Two men saw it on their way home." His lip quivered and he pressed his lips together.

She shook her head and pulled her hands away as the tears fell. It wasn't true.

"They heard Mark inside."

Standing up, she pushed their hands off and walked to the corner of the room, shaking her head and gasping from the sobs. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked and bowed her head. If she didn't listen, it wouldn't be true.

Brigands' voice broke. "He didn't come out."

"Noooo!" The scream tore out as tears poured out. "It's a lie! He's fine! He promised to never leave me! He wouldn't do this!" She sank to the ground in the corner in sobs.

Brigands came over and knelt down. "I don't understand why he did it, but he spoke to me oddly that night. He...he said goodbye. I think he believed this was the only way you could find happiness. Maybe it was an accident or maybe he did it on purpose." He reached for her.

"No! He's not dead!" The sobs came in gasps and the room spun. She pushed herself up. "I'm going to find him!"

Grandfather caught her as her legs buckled. "Tanya, the boat left port." He eased her onto the bed.

"You made him leave!" She sobbed and pushed his hands away. "You made him think it'd be better if he was dead than with me! I love him!"

"Tanya - "

"No! Get out! Get out!"

Grandmama gathered her to her chest.

"Go! If you hadn't come, he wouldn't have left!" She pushed away from Grandmama and sank to the floor beside the bed.

Everyone left but Brigands, who silently eased his old bones onto the floor beside her without touching. Tears slipped down his face as he offered his profile. "He wanted me to promise to watch out for you. No matter how dark it gets, I won't leave you," he whispered.

She crawled into his lap like a child needing comfort from a father after a horrible nightmare. Only there was no waking up from this nightmare. "I love him."

"He knew." He held tight and stroked her back. "You loved him enough for a lifetime. And he loved you. So much. It's going to be alright."

She laid on the bed and stared at the wall. After crying so hard that she got ill, Brigands tucked her in bed. Grandmama and Grandfather came, but she just stared as the silent tears continued to slip down. Shock dulled the pain enough to not feel the gaping hole right now.

A knock on the door at dusk. "Tanya? You must eat." Grandfather came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

She just stared at the wall.

"I know you hate me right now, but I need you to believe that I took you away because he asked me to. We had a heated disagreement in the middle of one night because I disagreed with him that it would be best for you. He promised me that he would not ask me to do anything that would hurt you in the end. He wanted to protect you. I asked you to sign the divorce papers because he said it would buffer you from scandal. I thought if you signed them, he might not fight so hard to pull away." His voice cracked. "I thought I was doing what was right. I wish I could take it all back and fight him like you did. I won't blame you if you never want to speak to me again."

Her face crumpled.

He gasped in a breath through the tears. "I loved you the moment I heard you were born, and I will always love you." He moved to go.

She sat up and flung her arms around him. And let the sobs of grief come.

Brigands came in during the night with a lantern, still wearing his clothes. "I thought you might not be able to sleep either."

She sniffled. "I keep remembering when he'd hold me in bed - " The sobs threatened again.

"Let's walk. It'll be good for the babe and you to have some air."

She shook her head.

"Then let's go to the kitchen and see if they have anything to eat."

She shook her head.

"My lady, I know you don't want to eat, but you must for the babe. You've eaten nothing since breakfast. The master loved that babe so much - you must keep up your strength. For his sake."

She nodded.

"I'll bring some things and see what agrees with you, my lady." He left.

Each heartbeat hurt. The ocean waves created a gentle rocking motion. She pushed herself to her feet and held the edge of the bed for support. And closed her eyes. It was like the time Mark had come up from behind and cupped the babe, gently swaying side to side. She held her belly with one hand, almost imagining it was Mark. Tears fell.

Brigands burst through the door minutes later and she startled. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his eyes huge and the lantern trembling in his hand.

"What is it?" Her heart shot into her throat.

"I...he...it..." Brigands stammered, his face as white as a ghost.

"Is someone after you?"

He shook his head and stepped forward, snatching her hand. "He looks like the master," he breathed.

She cupped a hand over her mouth as the tears welled. "Stop it."

"He looks like a beggar covered in soot, but I swear, it's him."

"Brigands, this isn't funny."

"Come see." He dragged her out of the cabin.

She clutched his hand tight as he pulled her to the back of the boat, beyond the lights of the ship. It was deserted back here. Crates and crates stacked in messy piles and the roar of the waves against the boat motor drowned out any sound.

Brigands must be mad with grief. A stowaway must be hiding back here. This wasn't safe. When she dug in her heels, Brigands just pulled harder as if determined to show her.

He led the path through crates and pulled aside a tarp. Underneath laid a man covered in filth with torn clothes. His hair looked a matted mess and his face had cuts and several days' worth of beard. Dirt and soot obscured his features and skin tone.

Brigands gave her a pointed look.

It couldn't be Mark. This man might be Mark's size - he laid curled on his side, probably drunk. She glanced at Brigands and pushed the man onto his back where he wasn't completely filthy. A pink burn covered part of his forearm that sat at an odd angle.

A burn. Oh god, maybe it was Mark. Her heart beat faster with hope and she grabbed the tarp to roll him onto it and drag him back to the room.

Brigands must've realized her goal because he tried to tug the tarp where it hung overhead on a pole. He pulled and tried to pull it free from a hook.

If this was Mark, he needed medical attention now. She grabbed the tarp and jerked with all her might. It tore free. She knelt on the wet deck and helped Brigands push the man onto the tarp, ignoring the cold spray of the sea. The man certainly had enough muscle to be Mark. He smelled too much of soot and sweat to tell. Then Brigands pointed to his eyes and then the deck. He wanted her to be lookout.

She hurried out on deck and crept down the corridor. Ugh, she should've checked his knee to see if it was him. Probably not wise to take a strange drunk into her cabin. Silence. She waved Brigands to come.

The old man slung the tarp over his shoulder and leaned forward to pull with all his might.

A sailor's whistle came closer. Footsteps echoed on the deck. Biting her lip, she looked back at Brigands who struggled too much to go back. Waving her arms frantically, she glanced behind. A sailor came around the corner.

She darted forward in his path and did the first thing that would send a strange man into a panic - she burst into tears. "I, I..." Turning so the sailor's back was to Brigands, the older man's eyes widened and he froze so the noise of the tarp wouldn't give them away.

"Madam? Are ye lost?"

She backed up and turned in a circle as she nodded, getting him to follow around the corner. "I think I was sleep walking," she sobbed. "I don't know where I am."

The rustle of the tarp started again, so she started wandering down another corridor just fast enough to get the sailor to follow.

"No need for tears. What room?"

Oh goodness, what room indeed that would be away from hers? "I don't know!" she wailed and glanced at the door numbers.

"Well, were you above or below deck?"

Oh dear, the hall came out at the back of the ship where the long tarp still dragged. She spun around and bumped into the man. "I don't know my room number!" A light turned on in one of the cabins. Oops, maybe the dramatics were too much and waking people up.

"There, there. Were you above or below?"

Think! Think! "I was seasick right away. I only know the floor color," she sniffled.

"The floor color?"

She nodded and looked down. "Like this."

His eyebrows rose. "The floor is the same color throughout the ship."

Uh oh. "Take me to the entrance, and I'll be able to find it based on the floor," she sniffled and took his arm.

"Oh, uh, alright." He led the way down some steps and across a long deck.

A quick glance back revealed Brigands pulling the tarp out of the room. The man must be inside. Just a few more minutes.

It was hard not to laugh at the poor sailor's distress as she led him down two halls and insisted they return to the beginning. Third try.

"Madam, I really can go check the ledgers and see what your room is."

Mark may've given a false name for the tickets. "No, I know I'll get it this time."

He sighed and led her on his arm.

She peeked down the hall. The door was closed, so she went to the door, keeping her head down in a pretense to look at the floor. "This is it! Oh, thank you!" The lantern shined in the little cabin window. "I even left the light on! Thank you so much!" She slipped inside and shut the door on the poor baffled sailor.

Her hands shook and she closed her eyes, drawing strength to turn around. Please, God, by some miracle let it be Mark. Grabbing handfuls of her skirt, she braced for the worst. She turned with her eyes closed and drew a deep breath. One, two, three.


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews, Awed, Old Soul in Wonderland, nadiaabigailv, Pink Dynamite, caroltrivilini and Guests! Getting reviews is probably as exciting for me as it seems to be for readers to get a chapter update. :)**

* * *

Opening her eyes, her breath hitched. Brigands knelt over the man on the floor and then looked at her. Tears rolled from his eyes.

"Is it her?" The man's voice had a harsh hoarseness to it.

Brigands held out a hand to her.

She stepped closer, never more frightened. This moment would bring Heaven or Hell. The man's face came into view. One eye swelled almost shut and the soot and beard and cuts distorted his features. But those blue eyes. A sob escaped as her hands flew to her mouth. Brigands caught her as her legs collapsed.

The man reached across his body and held out his left hand. "Tanya." His face crumpled.

Her hand shook hard. She touched his fingers. Then his arm. Then his face. It wasn't a dream. Oh god, it was him. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs from the depths of her heart and she leaned down, wrapping hers arms around his neck.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Don't cry."

"They...they s,said...you...were dead," she sobbed.

"They have to...think I'm dead," he rasped and held her.

Joy and relief hit with such force that the fear still lingered of this being a dream. Of waking up and realizing he was still dead.

"My lady." Brigands set a hand on her back. "He needs tending. His arm is broken and burned."

Sitting back, she wiped her eyes with her skirts. His right arm near her sat at an odd angle and part of the shirt had burned to his forearm. "You need to see the surgeon."

"No surgeon. No one can...know I'm here." He drew in a shallow breath and closed his eyes like he hurt.

"He's right," Brigand's said. "The burn will give him away. We must tend to him, and you must still be in mourning."

"Let's get him cleaned up and in bed." While Brigands fetched water and rags, she unbuttoned his shirt. "Where does it hurt?"

"I think my ribs are broken," he said breathlessly. "My back hurts terribly like it's burned."

"What happened? Brigands, I need scissors to cut off his clothes." She unbuttoned his pants.

"Don't," he whimpered. "My hip."

She pulled her hands away and took the rag from Brigands. "What happened to you?" Dear god, tears threatened seeing him in so much pain.

"The hall floor...collapsed into...the study," he breathed and held his side.

"It fell on you?" She started with cleaning his face as Brigands cut off the singed clothes.

"No." He winced when she wiped near his temple.

"Dear Jesus," Brigand's whispered and made the sign of the cross.

Falling through the floor of a burning building...he shouldn't be alive. Keep calm. He needed medical care, not tears. Her spine stiffened and skin thickened. "Brigands, get Grandfather to set his arm. And bring chloroform - we can't risk anyone hearing and he can't have laudanum." She wiped clean his neck and shoulders as Brigands hurried out.

"I just...wanted to get to...you." He gasped and closed his eyes as he seemed to battle a wave of pain. "I don't care what...he has to do..." His chest gave a single heave and then he grabbed her hand and held tight as he both panted and tried not to breathe.

"What hurts most?" She held his hand tight.

"Ribs," he whispered. "Promise..." His brow furrowed with his eyes still closed and he puffed tiny, rapid breaths, bringing to mind a helpless injured animal.

Tears fell. "What will help until he comes?" This horrible helplessness while he suffered created a restless, climb-the-walls feeling. This must be what it felt like to go insane. She gave soft strokes to his chest in hope of it easing the pain or his distress.

"Promise don't...go 'til...I'm out."

"I'll be right here the whole time, love."

Grandfather burst in wearing his nightclothes and stopped in his tracks. "By the Spirits, it _is_ true." Brigands followed and pushed him inside and locked the door.

"He has burns. His arm and perhaps ribs or back are broken. I haven't gotten any farther. His hip hurts too much to move him." The distress grew hearing all of his injuries listed. He shouldn't be alive. He might be paralyzed from how she and Brigands had jostled his back, but what mattered was he was alive.

Grandfather knelt with a medical bag and looked at Mark's arm without touching it. "I'm going to give you just enough chloroform to set your arm and check you for other injuries." He doused a rag and held it over Mark's mouth.

Mark's hand still gripped tight and his brow remained furrowed as he panted. She looked at Grandfather in confusion.

"Mark, you need to draw deeper breaths."

He did, followed by a soft cry of pain. His grip loosened slightly.

"One more, honey." She stroked his hand as the tears finally came.

A cry melted into a sigh and then he went limp.

Grandfather shoved the rag at Brigands. "Get it out of this tiny room or we'll all be unconscious. Tanya, find something to splint his arm. If there's a way to get a rag soaked with sea water, the salt will help to bring down the swelling of his arm."

She nibbled her lip. "The crate! If we break off slats, we can use them as a splint. The sea sprayed at the back of the ship - we'll get water there." She grabbed Brigands' proffered hand. "We'll be right back."

The stress must've given Brigands strength - he ripped three slats right off a crate and then handed her a slat. "Tie a rag onto this." She did and he took it and held it out over the railing where the waves sprayed. "Let's go."

She hurried back to the room with the slats. Brigands closed the door and untied the rag.

Grandfather had Mark's arm set and had already started cutting Mark's shirt from the burn across the side of his forearm.

"Did you wash?" She lowered her bulk beside him.

"With what water? Fresh water is rationed so we don't run out - it'll take three or four weeks to reach America."

Setting her hand over his to stop him, she met his eyes. "Then we take sea water and boil it if we must. He didn't make it this far to die from infection."

While the men left to figure out a way to gather water and have the kitchen boil it without asking questions, she rolled Mark just enough to look at his back and braced for a terrible burn. A long sliver of wood had driven into his ribs from the side and bulged under the skin down to his hip near his spine. It entered in his back two fingers in width and gradually tapered to one finger. Only by an act of God had he not been impaled to death. How he had ever made it out of the house and to the boat by himself was a a miracle.

Dear god, there was no good way to remove it. An incision the length of a forearm would surely get infected, but any slivers left embedded that deep in the skin would fester. The door opened and she looked at Grandfather.

He carried a pan of steaming water and slowly knelt, his eyes wide in horror. Brigands knelt in slow motion too.

"What do we do?" Fear gripped, cold and hard as her hands shook. "He'll get infection."

Grandfather released a shakey breath. "We remove it. At the first sign of infection, we make an incision to see if it's matter left in causing it."

A tear fell and she nodded, swallowing hard and drawing a deep breath. It had to work. There was no other option on a boat in the middle of the ocean with limited means.

She held him on his side and looked away as Brigands and Grandfather pulled the wood from his back while the chloroform still had effect. The scraping vibrations could be felt through Mark's body.

"This must be why it hurt him to breathe - it's pressing against his ribs." Sweat glistened on Grandfather's brow in his effort to remove the wood in the exact manner it had entered. Mark gave a drugged groan. "Hold on. You won't want this done when you're fully awake."

The thought of Mark feeling it scraping and the pain it must be causing made the room dip. The metallic hint of fresh blood singed her nostrils. The rocking from the sea only helped her stomach roll.

"Suck it up," Grandfather snapped. "He can't move much yet, but he's conscious and needs you. The pain is dulled, but it still hurts. Hold him still and let him know you're here."

Forcing down the bile, she stroked Mark's shoulder and gently adjusted how she held his broken arm alongside his body for support until Grandfather could splint it. The bones of his arm grated. Oh dear god. Another drunk groan of pain. "I'm here, Mark." The words came out weak.

"My lady," Brigands said in that gentle voice of his. "Look at me."

She did and blinked when spots blanketed him for a second.

He held her eyes. "Don't think of what is happening to his body. He's weary and frightened and needs your comfort. He will endure what we need to do to heal him if he has you to see him through it. He needs you to be strong."

Mark needed her. He needed her to be his rock. The dizziness and nausea eased a degree. She looked down and although his face couldn't move yet to portray his pain, weak moans broke the silence and tears leaked out from behind his closed eyes. Ever so careful to not move his arm, she laid down on the floor and faced him. Unable to be tight against him because of her belly, she cupped his stubbly jaw in her hands and stroked with her thumbs. "I'm right here. There's a long piece of wood in your back that they're getting out so you can breathe better. I'm staying right here with you."

The soft moans stopped and the tears slowed. His body began to tremble from pain as the drug wore off. His breath morphed to pants of agony again.

"We're getting you fixed up as fast as we can." She brushed a kiss over his lips.

"A man doesn't always weep from pain to his body, my lady."

She glanced up at Brigands and then looked at Mark's face, his brow able to slightly furrow in pain now. Her face crumpled. He'd been weeping because he'd thought her gone. Taking his good arm, she cradled his hand to her chest and stroked his cheek with her other hand. "I won't leave you. They almost have it out, honey."

The moment Grandfather pulled the bloody barb out, Mark drew a deep breath like he could breathe again. His hand tightened in hers and his face contorted in pain.

"There we are," Grandfather said. "We'll clean this up but leave it open to let out the ill humors. Brigands, see to this while I stabilize his arm?"

"Yes, sir." Brigands traded spots with Grandfather. "You hold your lady tight, my lord. She got quite white there for a moment but refused to leave you."

Mark's eyes cracked open but closed again as he hissed in a breath and jerked away from where Brigands cleaned the wound.

"You're doing so good, my Mark." She blinked the tears to clear her vision.

"We need to get a bandage on. I'll pass it to Tanya to reach under you since her hands are smaller and won't make you move as much," Grandfather told him.

"Here." She sat up and tore strips off her petticoat. "You need to save the clean bandages for directly on the wounds. My petticoat is just washed."

Once she cleaned his back and chest and the bandage was on, Grandfather checked the rest of his backside for injuries before rolling him onto his back again. Poor Mark's chest heaved and his brow grew damp again as Grandfather unwrapped the saltwater rag from his arm. "Tanya, wave this around to cool it. A chilled rag will give him some measure of relief."

She sat beside Mark again and waved the rag as Grandfather leaned down to look at the shirt that had burned to Mark's arm. Then she handed Brigands the rag and leaned down to Mark's ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't think about it that you're not clothed. I'll finish washing you and - "

"I don't care," he panted and grabbed her hand as Grandfather began to peel away the shirt burned to his arm. "Carbolic acid," Mark panted.

Her eyes widened in horror. "What?! Your books said that can cause fits and colic and - "

Grandfather set a hand on her back. "That's the method of treating burns of this degree to keep infection from setting in. It is mixed with oil and - "

"No!" She set a protective hand on Mark and glared at Grandfather. "The risk of poisoning is too great."

"Then what do you propose, Tanya?"

"Debried like what the surgeon did with the spider bite. And you said once that you have aloe, Grandfather. We pack the burns with herbs that you would use."

Grandfather looked at Mark, who nodded his consent. He applied a dressing directly onto the burn and wrapped it. Then he applied the splint. "We'll see by morning how much it debrieds."

It would mean Mark having pain for several days to come each time the dressing would be removed and hopefully peel off more dead flesh. She touched his cheek. "If you disagree, you don't have to do it this way." He gave a single nod, so she took the rag and finished cleaning Mark. A gash at his temple and a few cuts on his body and a swollen knee were the last of his external injuries.

Grandfather and Brigands helped him up slowly to get in bed. Poor Mark's nostrils flared as he breathed through the pain. Once settled, Grandfather palpated Mark's hip that he favored and she covered Mark with the sheet for modesty. "You aren't leaving bed for a few days - you may have a pelvis fracture. The best place for you is a hospital. The boat may be able to dock in Spain."

"No," Mark rasped. "We get to America so..." he grimaced through another wave of pain, "Tanya doesn't birth at sea. Once...she births, she's not traveling...until the bleeding stops."

She sank onto the side of the bed. "Mark, if you need to be in the hospital - "

"No." He slipped his good hand into hers. "There's nothing they'd do...that can't be done here."

"You at least need the infirmary on the ship! Your voice is raspy from the fire, you have burns and broken bones and - "

He closed his eyes and seemed to clench his teeth against another bought of pain. "I didn't...goddamn climb out of a fire," he gasped through his teeth, "to spend weeks...in a hospital." Then he tried to shift but ended up groaning in agony.

"Grandfather, go get the surgeon. We'll tell him that he's just another passenger - "

His hand tugged hers and she looked down at Mark.

Pain creased the corners of his eyes. "We have one chance...for them to believe I'm dead. D..." His hand clutched hers as he closed his eyes and paused for a moment. The agony seemed to pass and his grip relaxed. "Don't risk it. I'll be alright if...you stay."

When she looked at Grandfather, he nodded. "We will give him a couple days. If he doesn't improve, then we'll see. He was injured a day ago and couldn't have had an easy time getting to the boat. He's exhausted. Give him some good rest." He looked at Brigands, who nodded in agreement. "Rest with your husband. You're between our two cabins, so yell if you need help." Then he turned to Mark with a cup of powders mixed in water. "Drink so you can rest."

"I don't need...sleeping powders." He tensed from pain again.

"You will not be able to rest without them." She slipped a hand behind his head and set the glass to his lips. He thankfully drank without protest.

They both left and she got up and locked the door. Then she turned with her hands on the small of her back and surveyed Mark in the lantern light. His chest rose and fell a bit too fast and pain offered a perpetual squint, but he seemed to at least tolerate his discomfort right now.

"You look beautiful," he said breathlessly.

Her eyebrows rose and a slight smile tugged. "I see the powders are having effect. Are you trying to woo me in your sorry state, husband?"

"It's been four weeks...without you," he gasped and pressed his lips together as he held his breath for a moment. Then his chest fell with the release of his breath when the agony seemed to pass again.

"No, it just goes to show how much pain is affecting your judgment." She walked over to the bed. It was either climb over, scoot him or squeeze in the tiny walkway between the wall and small bed.

"Won't get in bed with a man...who isn't your husband?" His eyes lost some of their focus from the drug already.

Pursing her lips, she tilted her head. "We aren't legally wed anymore, are we? How very scandalous of us." She shrugged. "When you are better, I shall ask how you intend to rectify that. But no, I was debating how to get in bed without leaving you in tears."

"Promise to kiss me...and I'll bear it."

So she saddled along the side wall as best the babe allowed, climbed on the bed and slowly scooted back toward the headboard. The poor man panted with his eyes squeezed shut, the jiggling hurting him. "Sorry. I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't be in the same bed - "

"Stay," he breathed before she could finish.

Pressing back to the edge of the bed, she gave him the hand's worth of extra space.

His head turned to her, and sadness filled his eyes.

A slight smile tugged. "I don't want to hurt you. If you want me closer, just say." She slid closer and rested her head on his shoulder when he spread out his arm. But her belly on his side would hurt him, so she laid crooked.

Fingers on her back pried her closer. "More." When he kept prodding until the only choice remained to rest her belly on his side, he grunted in discomfort but didn't let go until she settled close. A second later, a soft sigh of contentment released from him and he rested with his eyes closed. Quite a bit of the pain lifted from his face.

She rested a hand on his chest and frowned at his breaths not coming clear and crisp under her ear like usual. "Your chest has an almost whistle sound. Can you breathe alright?" The need to sit up and check him tugged, but it would cause the poor man so much pain to be jostled.

A soft grunt. "It's the smoke."

"Will it cause pneumonia?" Worry gnawed. He looked so weak and ill, and the medical care would only be as good as the surgeon should Mark not be in a condition to advise what to do.

"Not if you let...me sleep."

But worry wouldn't let sleep come. Pressing up on her hand so as to disturb him as little as possible, she leaned across and listened to the other side of his chest.

"What are...you doing?" He didn't sound pleased, like he wanted to sleep.

"Shh!" There. A slight crackle whenever he drew in a breath. Using her arms, she slid up to a sit at the headboard to avoid jiggling his pelvis. "You're not breathless just from pain but because you can't breathe. There's a wetness in your lungs. Sit up and cough."

"Tanya," he begged, the dark circles under his eyes revealing his exhaustion. His eyes drooped from the sedative too.

She met his gaze and cupped his cheek. "I learned today what it felt like to..." blinking back the tears, she swallowed hard when a limp swelled in her throat, "to be your widow. I don't care how much you'll hate me these next weeks, but if you need to cough, I will nag all night until you cough. If you need bedrest, I'll tie you down to keep you in bed. If you need to go to a hospital, you can rip my head off as much as you please but I'll take you to a hospital. I'm not losing you again." A tear splashed onto his shoulder.

He looked at her for a long moment. There'd be nothing she could do if he refused to move. "Put a pillow...behind me at the...headboard." When she did, he used his good arm and pushed himself back to a gentle incline. Tears welled in his eyes from pain, but he didn't object. He used his broken arm to reach for the rag on the nightstand. A grimace of pain made her clench her teeth for him. He held the rag to his mouth and gave a cough. Terrible, wet coughs took over and wracked his poor body.

She set a hand on his chest in hopes that the vibrations wouldn't rattle his chest so. Her heart stopped when he turned the rag - the coughs brought up a bit of black and gray matter. "Mark?"

His chest heaved in an attempt to catch his breath as the violent fit faded. "Smoke."

"It's not old blood?"

He shook his head.

The man slept soundly the rest of the night. Fear of losing him still held strong. So she kept watch while he slept - afraid that at one moment his chest would stop rising and falling during the night.

* * *

Brigands came in the next morning. She stood up from the edge of the bed and held her throbbing back. "He's been sound asleep all night," she whispered.

He frowned. "And you haven't slept at all, have you?"

She shook her head and her face crumpled. "His chest had smoke and fluid in it last night, but he seems to have coughed most of it out."

"Oh, my lady, no more tears." He pulled her close when the tears came. "He's here and young and strong. We'll get him better. Then you'll be wishing for the days when he wasn't barking at us all."

That won a watery laugh, and she took his offered handkerchief. "What if he wasn't supposed to cheat Death? What if - "

"'What ifs' will drive you to insanity. None of us know what time is left for us. We just must remember to cherish it. Fear has a way of making us forget - don't forget that love can be as powerful of a medicine as anything your Grandfather or the master can do with their bottles and bandages. Come. Go sleep in my cabin. I'll sit watch with him."

She took his hand at the door. "I shouldn't speak so, but...I do not know if Grandfather is a skilled medicine man. I am going to be a terrible granddaughter and ask that you..." She bit her lip and hesitated.

"Ask that I stay with His Lordship if you cannot," he offered in a gentle tone.

She nodded. "I trust that if Mark isn't conscious and I'm not here that you will see he has proper care. I am not familiar with Grandfather's work. Based on conversation, Mark was impressed, but..."

He gave a single nod. "I will make sure he's still alive when you wake up."

"And don't tell - "

"I wouldn't dream of telling your grandfather, my lady. Go rest. The master will have my head if you wear yourself out."

"Thank you."

He escorted her to the room next door and knocked. When his wife opened the door, he said, "I told her to sleep here, and I'll watch him for a bit."

Teresa beamed and held out her hands. "Come, come. You look exhausted, dear."

She let the woman lead her to the bed and help her off with her shoes. "I know I'm imposing terribly - "

"Nonsense. You had a terrible day and a hard night." The woman tucked her in and said something, but her eyes already drifted shut.

* * *

She startled awake to an empty cabin room. A sickening feeling took hold that Mark coming back had been a dream. Not even grabbing her shawl and shoes, she held her belly through the nightgown and shot out of the cabin and into hers next door.

Teresa sat in a chair beside the bed and Brigands froze mid-reach to hand Mark a glass of water. Mark reclined in bed, with his broken arm propped on a pillow along his side. All eyes stared at her.

A huge sigh of relief and then a flush of embarrassment crept up. She must look a fright. Reaching up, she touched the long braid that had at some point become a big tangled mess. Curling her bare toes on the wood floor, she let go of her belly and closed the door. "Um, I thought maybe last night was a dream."

Brigands gave Mark the glass and smiled. "We've kept him in one piece, for the most part, my lady." Teresa stood with a grin of her own while Mark took a drink and handed the glass back to Brigands with a nod of thanks.

"It seems my wife has a way of making 'slug-a-bed' an endearing thing." Mark cracked a smile.

Her jaw dropped in surprise and she beamed. "You can breathe better and your voice doesn't sound as hoarse." She patted over and sat at the foot of the bed. "You look a thousand times better."

"Your grandfather realized he had a partially dislocated hip, not a fractured pelvis," Brigands added. "The master has been looking much better since it was fixed."

"Brigands insisted on staying for the torture. He informed me that he preferred to face my wrath rather than yours." She must've given Mark a puzzled look because he explained, "Apparently you ordering him to stay overrules me ordering him to leave." A slight twinkle glinted in his eye, as if he found it amusing.

Instead of blushing as he probably wished, she raised her chin - and pretended her cheeks didn't burn. "I can wear the pants just as well as you."

"Yes, you can, my dear." Then he turned his smile onto Brigands and said something.

Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. He'd a time or two called her 'sweetheart' during intimate conversation, but he'd never used 'my dear' or any term of endearment casually in public conversation. She blinked in surprise when Brigands and his wife slipped out the door.

"Did you get some sleep?" Those blue eyes had far too much intensity now that they weren't clouded with pain. His messy hair gave him a devil-may-care aura, and the beard made him look rugged and burly, particularly without a shirt on. His voice had a slight husky, rough quality yet from the fire. "Tanya?"

"Hm?" He was so unbelievably gorgeous, despite the broken arm and cuts and bruises. And he was all hers to have and to hold forever.

"Did you sleep well?" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Oh dear heaven, she was gawking! Dropping her eyes, she swallowed down the flutters and nodded, suddenly feeling so shy.

"Now that I'm not ready to scream in pain, I expect a proper greeting from my wife, being back from the dead."

Pushing herself up, she locked the door and closed the shade to the window. Sunlight filtered through the shade, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. She padded over to him and stood beside the bed for a moment.

He held out his good arm.

It wasn't proper, but a kiss and hug just wouldn't do for the love and joy that overflowed for having him back again. For having a chance at happiness. For having the man who held her heart to live out each day with for forever. She peeled off her nightgown and tossed it to the foot of the bed.

He grinned and took her hand to help her on the bed. "Ah, Tanya, I love your spirit."

Slipping under the covers, she draped herself over him as best as possible with the babe in the way and propped up on her elbow. She stroked his whiskers and smiled. "That isn't all you love about me."

"Isn't it?" His smile grew. "Are you telling me that I must tell you that I love you?"

"I certainly recall it being said a time or two in the past month." A soft giggle came out, the happiness so profound that a body should burst from having this much of it. "I think I like your beard. But I shall not let you kiss me until you tell me that you love me."

His smile faded as he held her eyes in all seriousness. "I love you enough to have walked through fire to fake my death so I could come with you. I love you enough that I chose you over terrible pain last night just to be near you - "

She set a finger to his lips. "I've never asked you to prove that you love me or how much. I just ask that you tell me that you love me."

"I love you." He cupped her cheek and pulled her down for a kiss. "I love you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I love you." A kiss to her brow. "I love you." Another kiss on her lips that deepened into sending her heart racing across the sea with his.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Old Soul in Wonderland, Singingsilent, Awed and Nadiaabigailv! I think the best compliment that an author can get is a story gets better with each chapter or readers stay up all night needing to finish a story! (Not that I wish anyone to lose sleep. :))**

* * *

"I think that we...might've just sinned," she panted and rested her head on his damp chest minutes later. "You do not seem like a convalescing man."

"If a man has a naked woman in his bed, he damn well figures out how to enjoy her even if he can't move," he said, his chest still heaving. "It hurts to breath. I need your pain killers again." He slid her hand down under the sheet.

With a giggle, she pulled free. "You should be resting. Is it your back that hurts?"

He grunted. "I feel where the muscles tore away from my ribs."

"Do you want compresses?"

"I'm too afraid to move." His poor body trembled slightly from the pain the deep breaths brought.

"At least your injuries are mostly on one side. Maybe you'll be able to get out of bed sooner."

"Want me bad, hm? I think I'm afraid of your enthusiasm for when we do consummate. I vow I'll make an honest woman of you."

She laughed. "The divorce papers wouldn't have been filed in time, so I'm legally a widow. And in God's eyes, we're still married. I see no issue at the present moment." Easing up onto her hands and knees, she kissed his chest and then his stomach and slid the sheet down. A glance at his face revealed the kisses taking away some of the pain as he closed his eyes.

"Except when we reach America, you need to bring a husband on land, and your husband is legally quite dead."

That did pose a problem. A kiss to his hip. "There has to be a priest on board. He can wed us - "

"Not wise to come on the boat a grieving widow and leave married." His words came out a bit distracted.

"Well, when we reach America we can marry before we head to Colorado. We will figure out something." A kiss to his thigh.

His hand stroked her hair as his body seemed to relax - most of it. "You play with fire," he whispered with his eyes closed. "You do not seem at all distressed that we have no titles, very little money, no income, no belongings..."

"I lived like that for nine and twenty years - "

"You're nine and twenty? You look younger." His Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow as he seemed to try to focus beyond the kiss to his other thigh.

"Too old?" She'd reached a spinster age long ago. Anna had been more than three years younger than him too.

"Just right," he sighed with his eyes closed and buried his fingers in her hair as she kissed his lower belly.

"Let me help you sleep." She crawled forward, resting her belly against him, and brushed a kiss over his lips. "I promise to be gentle so it doesn't hurt to breathe," she whispered against his mouth.

His eyes opened, the significant pain somewhat diminished in those beautiful blue pools. "You are almost in confinement. You shouldn't be catering - "

"It's called taking care of my husband," she said in soft tones in the intimacy of bed. "The babe and I are sound." When he opened his mouth to protest, she kissed the tip of his nose and held his eyes. "I hate that she taught you to not turn to your wife. There's no reason why I cannot give you the support and protection and love you give me," she whispered.

His brow knit just enough to create a tiny wrinkle. "There is no need," he whispered. Those eyes seemed to reach into her soul.

It hurt to see his confusion and uncertainty over such a basic marital concept. "Of course you don't _need_ me to do anything. But I wish to be whatever my husband needs: a sounding board, a partner, a lover... I wish to be the one who knows you best, the one you want to turn to first." She pressed a kiss to his lips when he looked quite speechless. "You hurt and you cannot have laudanum. Let me take care of you." Another gentle kiss to his mouth and she reached under the covers.

The dear man slept a peaceful sleep.

* * *

She stood when he did the last button at the back of her dress. "Behave while I'm gone getting us dinner."

"I do not like you smuggling in food and keeping a stowaway in your bed," he growled. She played with goddamn fire and didn't even seem to care.

The woman rubbed her belly with a smile and pulled on a wrap against the chill of the night sea air. "Where is your sense of adventure? If we get caught, I'll say that we found you in the crates and are nursing you back to health. Tell them that you were in a brawl and woke up here. You can't go to prison for being a stowaway when you didn't try to be a stowaway."

He scowled. "If anyone finds out you have a man stashed in your cabin, you'll be ruined."

She clapped her hands and grinned. "You're a genius! You shall have to make an honest woman of me."

His jaw dropped. "What?! That's not what I meant!"

Lowering herself onto the side of the bed, she stroked his cheek and smiled like a fool. "It's perfect. And romantic. I rescued you and nursed you back to health, and now you must save my honor and marry me. You'll need to walk on deck in a few days to regain your strength - what a perfect cover. If I trim your hair short and you keep the beard, no one will recognize you. We can claim your limp is from being beaten. Mark, no one will suspect - "

"Suspect anything of a widow whose husband's body was never found and she departed for America the same day he died and she comes up with a new beau on the ship?" He gave a pointed look.

"You'll just have to court and woo me like you should've in the first place." She shrugged.

His eyebrows shot up.

"Mark Debonairo would never court and woo. My new beau will be sweet and charming. No one will suspect a thing."

"You're going to let a man court you days after I'm dead?!"

She smiled and waved a hand. "You're not dead and you're the one courting me. Don't be so melodramatic. We have to come up with a new name for you, though." The woman tapped her chin in thought.

Goddammit, she had a point that it wasn't real. But still. The blasted broken arm didn't permit crossing his arms over his chest, so a fierce glare that had sent many men running would have to do. "You will not parade a man around a week after my death."

The chit didn't even blink at the glare but patted his cheek. "I shall cry and wear black and reluctantly accept your proposal out of honor. I do like your beard - it's very handsome and makes you quite rugged. Your voice is a hint deeper from the smoke - should it stay, all the better for your disguise. I shouldn't mind having a husband with such a deep voice either. It very much makes me want to kiss you. Be good and think of a new name while I'm gone." Then she stood and rubbed at her eyes. The chit picked up a handkerchief.

"What are you doing?" he growled, ready to pull his hair out. The damn woman had no sense of proper respect for a dead man or the mess she put herself in.

"If I make my eyes red and water, it'll look like I've been mourning." Then she actually turned on real tears. Dabbing at her nose, she stepped out the door and closed it.

His jaw fell. The chit was back at it again leaving him speechless right and left! And he goddamn loved it.

* * *

Brigands carried her plate and walked her to the cabin room door. She gave him an apologetic smile - the dear man had a soft heart and had teared up at her fake mourning. "Thank you," she whispered and took the plate. Then she slipped inside.

Mark sat exactly how she'd left him with the scowl still on his face.

"We'll have to share a plate. I piled it as much as I could and claimed I need it for the babe." She set it on the bed and then climbed in beside him. Sitting against the headboard, she frowned and set the plate on her belly. "Alright, cranky pants, you'll feel better with food." She set a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his lips.

He gave a dry look. "I can feed myself."

"Should you ever try to feed me, I won't complain." She beamed a smile.

"If - " A mouthful of mashed potatoes cut off his words. My, the man could glare.

She took a scoop herself and leaned down to where he reclined a bit lower to keep pressure off his hip. A quick kiss on his forehead and she scooped more food. "Did you think of a new name?"

"Yes. Gimme A. Fork," he grumbled.

A laugh burst out. "Clever. Alright, Gimme, here is your fork." She handed it over and lowered the plate for him to reach.

The man stabbed a chunk of meat with it.

"I'll cut it for you - " The words died when he bit and ripped a chunk off.

"I haven't eaten in three days; I'm allowed to be barbaric," he snapped.

"Three days? Why?" She frowned. Perhaps there hadn't been enough food in the house.

"I was stressed," he growled and ripped off another chunk. Another dark look.

She took another scoop of potatoes. "My Cuddle Bear isn't jealous that I'm going to be courting him while mourning his fake death, is he?" A slight smile pulled.

"I'm still as uncouth and boarish as two days ago, woman! I don't need coddling and feeding!"

"Do you hurt? Is that why you're cranky?"

"No!" He stabbed the other piece of meat and held it out to her. "Eat before I make that babe starve," he snapped.

She smiled and took the fork. "You wouldn't eat all the food and leave me with none. I'll ask Grandfather if perhaps you can get out of bed this evening and even stand outside at the rail. You need fresh air." Scooping some cooked carrots, she handed him the spoon. When he took it and jammed the food in his mouth, she pushed the food around on the plate. He seemed to think she took his death lightly. "Brigands told me at eight in the morning that you were dead." She swallowed hard at the terrible memory that still twisted her heart. "I cried straight past midnight when we found you. I was ready to raise the babe on my own without ever marrying again."

He dropped the spoon. "If I die, I want you to remarry," he spat. "A man has a right to panic that it might've been better to leave you to go to America on your own than with a penniless cripple hiding from the law! Illegal papers will need to be drawn up for a new identity! You're about to give birth and there's no home, no money, no career!"

She smiled. "Is that what has you in a dither? My goodness, I thought something serious was wrong."

"It is serious!" he huffed.

"Yes, Mark."

"This is our lives, our future!"

"Of course, Mark." She bit back a smile.

"This isn't some romantic adventure!"

"It could be. Life isn't always luck but perspective."

"Woman!"

A soft laugh bubbled up. "You forget one very important thing." She set the plate aside and slid down to be eye level for his fierce look. "I've been poor and starving and uneducated. But that is not the worst things can get." The smile faded as she searched his eyes. "Yesterday I learned what the worst is. We will figure out a way to put food on the table and find a place to live. I think life will be different here - simpler and less based on Society's rules. If I have you, I will be content. It's a new start, Mark. An adventure that we get to figure out together. It'll be hard, but we'll do it." She rested her head on his shoulder.

Silence. His good hand slipped into hers. "It's not called the Wild West without reason. We will lack comforts and certain civilized ways of England. There are no housekeepers or maids or cooks..." Then the truth finally came out. "This is not the life I want to give you, and I would not hold you to it if you decide you want to go back to England as a widow."

Leaning up on her elbow, she looked at him. Anna's teachings had been so deeply rooted in him that he struggled to let go. "The life I want you to give me is one with you. I will not run, and I'm not afraid because I'm with you."

* * *

A bit later, she pulled on her robe and went to Grandfather's door when Mark grew quiet and inward like he hurt. Grandfather followed her in with his medical bag and Grandmama came hot on his heels.

"There's my grandson," Grandmama beamed and walked over with her arms outstretched.

Mark smiled and blushed and pulled the sheets up a bit higher over his bare chest.

With a peck on the cheek, Grandmama gave him a gentle hug. "Our men go without shirts in the summer. It is not scandalous like in England." Then she stepped back and touched his cheek just below his developing black eye. "Tiger, give him some mugwort for the bruising." Then she turned. "Tanya, be sure to put it anywhere else he's bruising." Grandmama turned to him again, her manner suddenly very solemn. "I wasn't sure what we were going to do with Tanya - I worried she'd die of a broken heart with how hard she took the news yesterday."

His eyes flew to her, as if he hadn't quite truly believed that she'd mourned him so fully.

"Well, I shall go so Tiger can tend to you." Grandmama swept out of the room.

Grandfather knelt beside the bed and nodded for her to sit on the edge. "We'll start with your arm. Get the worst over with."

She held his hand but looked away as Grandfather peeled away the bandage, causing Mark to pant in pain. "Is it infected?" She swallowed down dinner again.

"No, it looks very good. More is bleeding than I expected, which is good. We'll do it again tomorrow and see how it looks, but we might be done sooner than I thought." Once that was done, Grandfather exposed Mark's hip.

"It wasn't that black and blue earlier. Is something wrong?"

"No. Any pain?" Grandfather palpated and moved Mark's leg.

"Sore but not painful," Mark stated, his poor chest already damp from the agony of Grandfather's exam.

"Check his lungs."

"I will in a bit." Grandfather smiled. "Roll onto your side and we'll check your back."

She held his broken arm steady as he turned. And choked back a gasp at the sight of his back. Red lines and red spots ran from under his shoulder blade where the wood had entered all the way down to the bottom of his spine. Black and blue bruising nearly blanketed the entire right side of his back. Pointing to the red lines with wide eyes and looking at Grandfather, her heart pounded. Infection?

He shook his head like he read her mind. "Those are blood blisters and bruises. Whatever he landed on was blunt enough to not puncture but hard enough to damage the tissue beneath. Mark, these are large and likely adding to your pain. I'll lance these. Tanya, would you ask Brigands to fetch some whiskey? We'll clean his back with that."

"Will it hurt?" She didn't move a muscle.

"No, and it might bring him some relief. Go on."

So she knocked on Brigands' door and he opened it, already in his nightclothes. "Would you go to the kitchen for whiskey? Mark has blood blisters, but Grandfather says cleaning his back with whiskey will help with lancing?"

He nodded and smiled. "His Lordship often used whiskey or Scotch to clean wounds, my lady. Your Grandfather is making a sound decision. Let me dress and then I'll be back."

She returned to her cabin and offered silent thanks when Brigands came with a full glass and knelt beside Grandfather to help. The room dipped the moment blood leaked out of the first spot they worked.

"My lady, lie down and keep the master occupied." Brigands offered his arm to clutch as he led the path to bed.

Mark held out his good hand and helped her settle. "Deep breaths."

She laid down in his arms and closed her eyes against the wave of nausea. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's relieving pressure. Don't think about it," he whispered. His quiet calmness helped fade away the clamminess from nerves. He brushed a kiss over her brow, his beard a soft tickle.

He began to tremble minutes later. "Mark?" She leaned back and searched his face.

His brow furrowed and his eyes remained closed, but his chest rose and fell a bit too fast and his nostrils flared. He curled a fist at the back of her dress and clutched the material. Grandfather sent Brigands out with something.

"His back is locking in a spasm," Grandfather explained and continued to work. "It's a wonder it didn't happen sooner with the damage to the muscles."

His entire body tensed and eyes squeezed shut, so she cupped his face and leaned her forehead against his. "Almost done. I'll get you compresses when Grandfather finishes."

"Tanya, come," Grandfather ordered.

"Is that alright?" She stroked Mark's cheek. He grunted in agreement, although he didn't open his eyes. So she slid out of bed.

"Mark, roll onto your belly. Tanya, help him with his arm."

"What are you doing?" She helped Mark keep his arm steady as he turned.

Brigands returned with a bucket of steaming water that seemed to be heavy for him. Then he set it down and Grandfather reached into the water and pulled out and dried a stone half the size of her palm. He placed it on Mark's back.

Mark flinched and then gave a soft sigh.

"Won't it burn him?" She touched a stone. The heat was almost too hot to bear.

Grandfather set a few more on Mark's back. "No, child. It's giving him relief. It's what we use back home for pain when there are limited options. Pull up the chair - you need to learn how to do this because he will need it again."

She sat and moved the stones at certain times to various areas where Grandfather instructed. Mark's poor skin felt hot and took on a pink hue from the heat of the stones. "Is it too hot, honey?" No answer. With a frown, she stood and peeked at his face turned toward the wall. The poor thing was fast asleep.

Grandfather touched Mark's brow and smiled. "We will stop in a few minutes being he can't tell us if he's getting too warm."

Brigands yawned.

"Thank you." She looked over her shoulder at Brigands. "You should get some rest. We'll be done soon."

"You know where I am should you need me, my lady."

Silence settled when Brigands left. Grandfather listened to Mark's lungs. "Different ways are not necessarily bad medicine."

Her cheeks burned and she moved a couple stones on Mark's back. "I'm sorry. I'm the same way with England's physicians. If a surgeon proves to me that he's a good surgeon, then I'll trust him."

"It is good to not blindly trust, but remember physicians are human too and will not always get it right. I'm sure your husband has made errors in his medical career."

She nodded. "I learned as a child to not rely on anyone but myself," she said quietly. "I am learning. His back looks better now that you've lanced the blood blisters. Will he need cleaning with whiskey in the morning?"

Grandfather pressed his lips together, almost like he tried not to smile. "Probably not a bad idea. You realize your husband will need a trade in America?"

"Yes. He loves medicine. I'm hoping he'll be able to practice. I think it'd shame his pride if I worked, but he should not bear all the burden. Perhaps I could take in laundry in Colorado? Then I could be home with the babe."

Grandfather laughed. "Maids and laundry wash are luxuries that very few can afford in Colorado. Means are very simple. Your husband may need a nurse, and you have an intuition for medicine. And to learn, if what your husband says is true."

She blinked and looked at him. "And what has he said?"

"Our first evening there by the fire, your husband told me that you have exhausted all his university books and even some professors. He went so far as to say that he believes your intelligence to exceed his own."

Her back straightened and she looked away. Even her own poor class knew that female intelligence was not an appropriate quality and should a husband be eccentric enough to indulge her in it, a woman was never to make her husband feel inferior. Female intelligence was to be a well-kept secret. "He said such a thing?" She busied her hands with moving the stones as her stomach twisted.

"And seemed quite proud of it."

Her gaze jerked to him.

He smiled. "You either have a supremely self-confident husband, a very forward-thinking husband or one who very much adores you."

She couldn't hold back a small smile. "I should think it just may be all three."

"With that said, I do not think it a far stretch to say that I believe your husband would enjoy a pretty little nurse by his side who just maybe will do as much learning as teaching."

"He was one of the best female surgeons in England. There is nothing I could teach him - "

"I seem to recall someone saying to debried his burn rather than use carbolic acid. It's working, isn't it?"

"Because I saw the surgeon do it on my wound. Mark would've said the same if he'd known it could work."

"But he didn't; you did."

Squeezing into bed beside Mark after Grandfather packed up and left, she stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Working with Mark would be wonderful and exciting, although there might be a few faints from the sight of blood thrown in there. He would be a good teacher. The babe could come on calls and be tied on her back. Papa had mentioned once that Mama's people tied babes on their backs. And Mark would have his passion of practicing medicine while still not missing out on watching the babe grow.

Rumors said that a surgeon's wife was just the working class's version of a poor man's widow with how often the husband would be gone on calls. But wives in England were certainly not nurses for their husbands. Rubbing her belly, she rested her cheek against Mark's arm. Life would be different and perhaps hard for awhile in America. Mark may have a large adjustment living with limited means for awhile, but with reminders that everything would be alright and she didn't care about lots of gowns and fancy things, he'd be alright. This would be a new start without the shadows of England's rumors and gossip. Life would be good in America.


	29. Chapter 29

"No cane," Mark grimaced as Grandfather helped him stand the next morning. "I didn't learn how to walk with this damn leather brace to give myself away now."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You had this fake death planned even when we met at the market, didn't you?"

"No, I decided in the middle of the night to die," he snapped. When she pressed a kiss to his lips, he stared and fell silent.

She smiled. "Before I take you out, we need to clean you up and figure out a new name." Then she led him to the chair. "Sit."

"Sit? I thought we're going to get breakfast!" he huffed and let her push him down.

Grandfather chuckled. "I think I'll leave you to it. I'll be in the dining hall." Then he hurried out.

Mark held out his hand to where Grandfather escaped through the door. "Why does he get to go eat?!"

A giggle bubbled up. "You will eat soon enough. Just be still so I can get done." Ignoring the scowl, she picked up Grandfather's scissors. "How short should we go?"

"Just like that." He started to get up.

"Mark," she laughed and pushed his shoulder to have him sit.

"Clark."

"Hm?" She started to cut.

"It's close enough that I'll still answer," he growled. "You cannot go around calling me by my old name."

"Clark." Stepping around him, she cracked a smile. "You could pass for a Clark. What's your last name?"

"Johnson. It's common in America. Are you done?"

A slow contraction hit. And grew in intensity. Closing her eyes and blowing out a slow breath, she set a hand on the back of his chair.

"Tanya?" A hand rested on the babe, and he must've felt the hardening. "Take a deep breath." He gave a gentle tug on her arm and eased her into his lap. "Let it out. It's practice labor. Good. Another breath," he said so calmly.

Another contraction followed right on its heels. The belly tightening grew more and more intense. She clutched his bicep. Oh dear god.

"Don't hold your breath. Breathe with me."

The sound of deep breaths made it easy to follow as he pressed where her lower back ached. She released a soft moan of relief when the contraction finally faded enough to draw a deeper breath.

"Good girl," he cooed.

HAving a larger belly made it more painful than when the babe had threatened to come months ago. This might be worse than expected. She laid her head on his shoulder as he stroked away the last of the contraction. "I don't want to do this."

"Yes, you can." He cupped her jaw and forced her to lift her head to meet his eyes. "Women have babies all the time. I'll be there the entire time. We'll walk and do massages, and there are breathing rhythms that help."

And many women died. Like Mama. But Mark had better survival rates than many, if not all physicians. She kept silent.

"I'm not going to let anything happen." He kissed her brow.

Worrying wouldn't change anything. Using his shoulder to push herself up, she resumed cutting his hair.

After a moment, he caught her hand and turned as best his body allowed in the chair. "Tell me what's wrong, my dear."

A soft smile helped soften the worry. "I like when you call me that."

The corner of his mouth twitched from a threatening smile. He waited.

"You are a brilliant surgeon, but even you haven't been able to save everyone."

He sighed through his nose and led her to stand between his legs. With strokes to her belly, he looked up into her eyes. "As a surgeon, you learn each time. As with most physicians, I lost many more patients in my first couple years because I did not know better. It isn't right or fair, but it is fact that with experience comes skill. I've learned what to do with a woman who births breech or to check for the cord around the babe's neck during delivery. I know ways to stop hemorrhaging and when to do surgery. I've delivered babes in England's homes and Africa's roadsides."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"If you deliver on this ship, I am not worried because I have delivered babes with no supplies but my hands."

"I didn't know you've done travels."

He actually cracked a smile that faded just as fast. "You perhaps have more fear because your mother passed from childbirth, but I won't let anything happen to you. What are you afraid of most?" The man pressed a kiss to her belly.

She rested her hand over his on the babe. "I think first the pain."

The man frowned. "But Sandy - "

"Sandy had birthed twice. Your books say subsequent babes are born quicker. That probably means less pain."

"Oh for crying out loud. She delivered like most women. Do you think I would propose having more children if it actually meant hours of screaming in agony?" he snapped.

"You're angry that I'm scared?" She frowned and took a step back in hurt.

"No!" He caught her hand and pulled her into his lap, resting his broken arm on her leg and his other hand wrapping around her back to keep her in place. "I am frustrated that I don't know how to make you less afraid!" he huffed. "You're my damn wife, and I'm going to take care of you!"

A small giggle came up. "I don't know that you should yell at your patients that you'll take care of them. It's a bit of an oxymoron."

He swatted her bottom. "Don't sass me, wench."

His usual gruff demeanor helped chase away the nerves. Draping her arms around his neck, she purred, "Do you have to punish me?"

"I'll punish you damn well once my belly's full!" he barked.

With a smile, she stood.

"I wasn't finished, woman!" He pulled her into his lap again and gave a most dizzying kiss that left her cheeks hot. Then he pulled back. "That look suits you better than that haughty tongue. Should you sass me again, I'll have no choice but to kiss you, even if it's in the dining hall with dozens of eyes around. We would be thoroughly scandalize."

A delighted laugh bubbled out. "I quiver in my shoes." She stood with a grin. He was the biggest liar. He of all people wanted to avoid scandal.

The most arrogant expression settled on his face. "For that lip, you'll sleep naked in my bed tonight."

Laughter froze mid-air and she blinked. "You're not serious?"

"I see I must prove that I'd punish you. Come, I'm hungry." The man looked at her expectantly.

She blinked in confusion and stepped in front of him.

He set her hands on his shoulders and pulled her closer between his legs.

She frowned in puzzlement when he pulled at the bottom of her skirts. He slipped a hand under. Her knees buckled and she gasped at the surge of pleasure. When he eased her into his lap, she held on being the room still spun.

"I love you, my saucy wench," he whispered after the waves had calmed. "Will you behave now that I've tired you?"

Keeping her eyes closed, she nuzzled his chest where he'd rested her head under his chin. "For a bit." She rubbed the light contractions that he'd caused.

"Good. Does it hurt?" he asked in distraction and resumed when she shook her head. "I've thought of your insane proposal at being caught taking care of my sorry hide. We shall let ourselves be noticed."

She sat up with raised eyebrows.

"We shall maintain appropriate physical barriers in public as if he have just met. And a widow will not be flirtatious."

She nodded in all seriousness.

"I'm a penniless soldier returned from war, which will explain why my speech isn't of the poor but I have no means. I got in a pub brawl, but that's the last of my memory until I woke up in your cabin. I'm from Northern England but have trouble remembering much else before I left for war, due to my blow on the head. What's my name?"

"Clark Johnson. Just how long have you been conscious?"

"Since when I actually woke up. The fewer lies to keep straight, the better." He looked down at Grandfather's clothes.

His shoulders strained the material. The sleeves were only a hint too short and the pants a little too long. His shoes suck out like rich sore thumbs. "I'm afraid you must go only in your stockings. Your shoes will give you away. We'll pawn them in America for something more fitting."

"I'm sure you'll teach me how to pawn," he growled, as if the thought that she'd learned how upset him. "Your father was a moron."

She smiled. There was something special about having someone take care of her now. "Yes, Mark, I mean Clark. You've said that before." She stood and finished cutting his hair. "This will take some getting used to a new name."

"Say it in every sentence."

"I like your real name."

"I do not have a real name because I'm dead. Use it."

She stood before him and frowned. "Maybe you don't look like a Clark."

He rolled his eyes. "Tanya, it's just a name."

"But one that you'll be called all the time." She said in all seriousness, "One that I'll call you when we make love."

"Then what do you propose?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"This isn't hard," he growled a few minutes later as Grndmama and Grandfather studied him with her.

"Jacob? Henry? Thomas?" Grandfather threw out more names.

Even Grandmama wrinkled her nose. "He doesn't look like any of those. Clark is too close to his name, and we're all going to slip."

"Women," Grandfather sighed.

"If you wouldn't act like such a lion sometimes, this might be easier," Grandmama teased Mark.

"Lions. What about Daniel?" She studied him.

Grandmama smiled. "Like the Biblical story. I'd say escaping a fire isn't unlike escaping the lion's den. Daniel. The beard fits that name."

"What do you think?" It had a simplicity and yet an elegance to it.

Mark shrugged. "I don't care as long as I can eat soon,'" he said pointedly.

"Alright, let's try Daniel."

"You did a lovely job with his hair - he looks quite different. It goes nicely with the beard." Grandmama nodded in approval.

"Do we get to eat now?" he grumbled.

She pressed a kiss to his lips. "We can eat now, cranky man."

"You will keep your distance. My contact will be limited to your grandfather, as is proper for a widow," he huffed and stood.

She cracked a smile. "Yes, dear. I'll be uninterested and in mourning."

"Come." Grandmama linked arms with her. "We'll leave the men to follow."

She glanced behind a time or two on deck. Poor Mark - Daniel - seemed sore and came at a slow pace, taking Grandfather's assistance being his bad hip and knee were on the same side.

She frowned when Grandfather sat Mark alone at a small table and then joined them.

"He insists on public solitude to dissuade any gossip if anyone saw him leave your room," Grandfather said under his breath. "He will be curt and discourteous at times for your sake."

"But - "

Grandfather gave a firm look. "Least it look as if you had a lover on the side," he whispered.

Oh goodness. She dropped her eyes and kept her head bowed throughout the meal like a grieving widow should. At the end of breakfast, she glanced his way.

The man sat hunched over his plate, likely to take strain off of his back. All the same, it gave an aire of angry bitterness like he wanted to be left alone.

"Be certain to let people see you both go into our cabin, Lily." Grandfather stayed behind when Grandmama escorted her back.

"Grandmama, it would be good for Mark - "

"Who, dear?"

She grit her teeth. "Daniel to walk on deck. He needs to get out and stretch, and fresh air would be good so he doesn't feel cooped up," she whispered and gave a nod when a couple passed.

"He is not your concern, but a patient of your Grandfather's," she said through her teeth. "In public, you will maintain your distance."

Brigands stepped out of their cabin, a bit pale. "Hello, my lady. Madam." He gave a nod. "The sea is not agreeing with us. Do you need anything?"

"Of course not. You go rest with your wife. Do _you_ need anything? Perhaps some plain biscuits and water?" She set a hand on his arm. "I'll get some. You wouldn't say even if you did." Spinning on her heel, she left Grandmama and hurried down the dock to the dining hall. And turned the corner to run straight into Mark and Grandfather in the busy dining hall doorway. "Oh!"

"Beg your pardon," he grunted, but his eyes narrowed on her belly.

She rubbed the babe even though it'd been a light bump. "Excuse me."

"Mr. Johnson, you've been unconscious, so I don't believe you formally met my granddaughter, wife of the late Marquess Debonairo," he slipped in, loud enough for others to hear. "My dear, Mr. Johnson, the man who was injured."

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment when other people stared as they passed. A tiny pang of homesickness hit at the mention of his surname and the life left behind.

How did a widow greet a man when she was supposed to be locked away in mourning? And confinement? So she offered her hand. He gave a minute shake of his head to correct the etiquette. She dropped her hand.

"Good day, Marchioness," he grunted. He touched his forelock, and his eyes followed a woman entering the dining hall who gave her a critical look up and down. "My condolences." Then he glanced at the woman who stopped and studied him. And he let go of Grandfather's aid and limped away.

Her jaw fell open in shock. He certainly took his role as disinterested to a complete level.

Grandfather set an arm around her shoulders and watched him go. "He's not much for speaking or manners. He prefers his solitude." When the woman left, he dropped his arm. "Are all English so nosey?"

" _People_ are."

After delivering water and biscuits to Brigands, she slipped into Mark's room. He reclined on the bed without a shirt and flipped through an old newspaper. "Mark - "

"You're in the wrong man's room."

She sighed. "Daniel. Ugh, I don't like that name either anymore. You're Mark. Grandfather said he left the stones in here."

He absently pointed to a bucket of steaming water on the floor in the corner. "It'd be wise if you settle on my name before we have to correct people."

She walked over to take the bucket closer to him.

"No!" He tossed aside the paper and pushed himself up. "That's far too heavy in your condition."

"And in yours."

He grimaced as he hefted the metal bucket and immediately set it down. So he toed it over. Then he pulled over her chair and sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on his knee and broken arm in his lap. "You shouldn't be here."

" _You_ didn't have to be so rude. And I do need to be here so you can get better." She lowered her bulk into the chair and leaned to the side to pick up a stone. "Lie down."

"No one will mistake interest from a man who is rude to a woman." He didn't move. "You're irritated with me."

"I am not." Maybe a little. She dried off a hot stone.

"Would it suit you better if I toss up your skirts right now?" The sarcasm in his tone didn't help.

"Don't be crass and lie down," she ordered.

"You prefer that I fall at your feet like a smitten lover? Your reputation would be just as ruined as - " His mouth snapped shut.

She looked away. "As the harlot I was said to be in England?" For some reason, that hurt coming from him. The wall he was trying to put up both publically and privately for some stupid sense of chivalry hurt. "What's one more man? I spread my legs for a thief and a man who wed me out of obligation. What's a poor soldier to the mix?"

His face reddened in anger. He flung out a hand and sent the small night table crashing into the opposite wall. She startled. His hand shot to the knob on the back of the chair and he hovered, his eyes flashing with rage. "He touched what was not his," he hissed. "You are mine."

Her eyes bore into his in challenge, wanting this possessiveness because it was better than his cold disinterest. "I legally belong to no man." The tone came out hard and unyielding.

His hand slid under the skirts. "But you want to belong to me." His voice fell to a husky purr and he managed to sink to one knee.

She gasped and grabbed the sides of the chair. "You won't take me," she breathed.

"And you love it because you know how much I want to." His hot breath swept over her lips, tantalizing with his taste.

"Take me," she breathed and dropped her head back as her heart thundered from the pleasure he wove. "I hate that he still owns part of me. Wash him away." Stretching and a sharp pain. Her head flew upright with a soft gasp.

He pulled his hand out and looked at the blood on two fingers. Heartbreak clouded his eyes.

"You have to. I'm not frightened because it's you. The next time, it won't hurt." She stroked his cheek.

His eyes fell to the small streaks of blood on his fingers. "I will not hurt you." He pushed himself up and wiped his hand on a towel.

"So you're going to leave the babe to tear his way out?"

"Don't insinuate that I'd leave you to suffer," he hissed. "As the babe delivers and puts too much pressure for you to feel, I will see to it that you can fit the babe without being torn up." His eyes flashed. "To take you now would cause as much pain as he did! I will not rape you!" he shouted, his chest heaving.

Her eyes widened. That was the root of reason for his disinterest. "Is that what you think? That if you cause pain it's like raping me?"

He spun away. "Leave. You shouldn't be seen in here."

She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He didn't trust himself to resist and feared hurting her. The man didn't seem to realize that he never could be that kind of monster. "Lie down. I won't go without tending to your back, sweetie."

The muscles tensed in his back and he walked to the bed. "Don't call me that." Something in the tone said it's because Anna had called him that.

A slight smile tugged as he laid on his belly. Despite the bruising and cuts, the man had a very nice back, and the large muscles flexed quite deliciously. Although, he did hiss in a breath in pain. He needed a tease to ease his tension. "I believe I'm grateful to Grandfather for this treatment." She sat in the chair and pulled a fresh stone out of the bucket.

He grunted in question and turned his head on the pillow to face her.

"Because I get to have a fine view of your muscles twice a day."

His back bounced in laughter and his lips pressed together in a smothered smile. The moment the warm stone touched his back, he flinched and his hands fisted the sheets. After two more stones, he sighed and relaxed with his eyes closed for a few minutes as she moved the stones around. "Does your back hurt?"

She looked at him to see blue eyes studying.

"You never complain of a pain that most women with child have. I don't think I've ever offered a massage."

"And you will do one now in your state? I'm fine. I do have a surgeon question, though." When he waited with a patient look, she drew a deep breath for courage. "It feels like there's something between my hips more and it's easier to breathe today."

"I noticed the babe looks lower. She's likely dropped and is in position for birth."

Her brow furrowed and she moved a stone to his shoulder. "Does that mean she'll come soon?"

"Not necessarily. Although, I'm not certain you won't birth at sea." His lips pressed together.

"Are you worried if I do?"

"I peeked in the surgeon's quarters, and he has tools I can make do with if things go wrong. The women in your tribe birth alone in the woods - I have to think that is good because only women with wide hips and characteristics inclined to breeding would survive, thereby passing down those traits to her daughter."

"But Mama - "

"May've died from something as avoidable as the surgeon pulling out the placenta and causing a hemorrhage. I asked your grandmother if she had a difficult birth, and she did not. She had one child because of difficulty conceiving, which could be as simple as your grandfather not being fertile."

She moved more stones. "To make the babe fit, must you cut all the way to him?"

"No." His eyes widened in horror. Stiffly rolling to his side, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Then he took her hand, as he was want to do for serious conversation. "We already took care of most of the internal scars that worried me. The bit that is left will be easier to reach as you deliver." He drew a breath and then hesitated. "Do you remember how I had to stitch Sandy?" When she nodded with a frown, he continued. "You..." He looked down and fingered her wedding ring, as if he had difficulty discussing it. "He ripped you. Quite badly." Tears shimmered in his eyes when he met her eyes. "I understand that you didn't have the funds and likely were too frightened to see a surgeon. With the degree of damage, a surgeon would've had to help guide so you didn't over heal, which you did."

"I don't understand."

"I do not want you to be frightened, and this will not necessarily mean you'll have that much more pain than any other woman who needs sutures from birth. When you give birth, I'll wait until the pressure of the babe helps numb everything before I make the incision so you can fit the babe through."

"Well, I suspected that after I saw what you had to do with Sandy." A smile blossomed and she touched his cheek. "You worry too much." But he didn't look relieved. Her smile faded. "It's not just a cut to fit the babe, is it?"

He gave a slow shake of his head. "You need reconstruction, if you do want more children or to consummate." He eased onto his knees, dipped his fingers in the bucket and then drew a picture on the wood floor. "If you want it, I would have to stitch like this. When you scarred, you over healed here." Those blue eyes looked up.

Her face burned. He hadn't just been a gentleman - it'd been impossible for him to claim his consummation right. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand, or I would've told you to do it when you cut the adhesions - "

A scowl narrowed his eyes and he pushed himself onto the bed again. "Did I say this was your fault?" he snapped.

"Well, no." She frowned in confusion.

"Then I will not hear you utter such damn idiocy again, understood? And only a goddamn quack would do such surgery during pregnancy when the risk of complications is higher," he barked. "I'll do it during delivery if it's what _you_ want."

She cocked her head. "You would be content if we never consummated?"

"I should be content with what makes my wife happy!" he barked.

"I'm not your wife, actually."

"Yes, you are!" He stomped a foot. "Dammit, answer the question!"

Stepping between his legs to be closer, a smile tugged as she stroked his cheek, very much enjoying the texture of his beard. "Seeing how there's no sense in not doing it if we're to have more babies and I think I should very much enjoy my husband claiming me and you have to cut anyways, I should say there's little wisdom in not doing the surgery."

He grunted, his attention seeming more focused on stroking the babe. "Lock the door and close the curtain," he grumbled.

So she did and held back the grin as she returned to him.

The man turned her around and stripped her clothes off. Then his hands glided down her back to her thighs, creating delightful shivers. He turned her to face him and did the same thing on her front. The man then sat back and his eyes perused.

A flush crept up. "Are you going to just gawk?"

"It is not called gawking when admiring a work of art." His voice took on a husky quality.

She stroked the babe and looked away in embarrassment when a smile tugged. "One would not think you to be a poet."

"One would not think me a great many things." He didn't seem inclined to move. "If I was to have my way, clothes would not be worn inside this room."

"Not if you ever want me to kiss you again," she laughed.

He pulled her down to straddle his hips. "God, I love it when you sass me." His hands cupped her bottom and his head bowed to kiss over her heart.

A giggle bubbled up. "Your beard tickles."

"My deepest apologies," he rumbled in his chest and slipped a hand between her thighs. "I shall atone." Then his hot tongue licked her breast.

"Mark - " She bit her lip and leaned into him.

"That's not my name."

Dear heaven, the smoke left his voice deeper and the huskiness even more so. Her hands buried in his hair and her head fell back. "It has to be - it's what I'll say whenever you make love to me."

"I plan on it being often," he mumbled as his mouth closed over the other breast.

A soft gasp. "Mark, people will hear in the daylight."

"You do not deny me simply because it is daylight. I love that about you," he growled, "I have to have you." He pulled her down onto the bed and laid down behind. Kisses to her shoulder and strokes over her belly continued as he pressed his need against her bottom.

"You will leave your clothes on - you're supposed to be convalescing." She reached behind and cupped the back of his head.

"Your medicine is better than anything a surgeon can give. Lie with me." His hand glided over her hip, the man clearly restless.

"I thought I shouldn't be in here." She cracked a smile.

A light swat on her bottom. "Don't give me lip, woman."

"Yes, Mark." The smile grew.

He groaned with need. "Don't act all innocent like that," he huffed.

"No, Mark." She looked over her shoulder with a wide, innocent expression. "Am I going to be punished?"

The man pushed up onto his elbow, despite a soft hiss of pain, and leaned over her shoulder to capture her mouth in a long, passionate kiss. "Tanya, I want you," he whispered and nipped her lip.

Shivers of delight skittered down. Pushing herself up, she turned.

He laid down and used his good hand to support her belly as she leaned over him. "Rest the babe on my belly so you don't strain your back."

Her smile faded as she did rest the weight on his stomach. Without getting on all fours to lean around her belly, it'd be impossible to kiss him. "That just killed the mood," she said with hot cheeks.

But he caressed the babe, his pupils dilated with desire.

The woman looked ashamed all of the sudden. She had come so far - even voluntarily stripping her clothes in daylight without a glimmer of fear or shame. He'd be damned if now she pulled away. The chit had no idea just now mad she drove him. "Touching your pregnant body excites me," he growled, his voice husky, and he cupped her breast. That didn't come out as romantic as intended. This was unfamiliar territory of trying to woo a woman in bed. Anna had never liked conversation in the bedchamber. The words didn't seem to help Tanya.

She sat back and held the sheet up to her chest.

He frowned. This wasn't like her to just pull away.

"What if after the babe comes, I don't excite you anymore?"

A deep sigh heaved through his nose. It hadn't occurred that reassuring her so much during pregnancy could leave her self-conscious afterwards. "You shall please me just as much, woman."

"I don't have the curves of English women - I have far more curve with pregnancy than without. And I haven't been in the sun much all year. Usually I'm a bit darker and - "

"And I could not care less," he cut in. "Women worry about absurdities. I will likely be in the sun more and darken too."

She bit her lip. "But..." The woman hesitated. "People will know I look like Mama's people. I asked Grandmama at breakfast, and she said the English are not always kind to the natives, that people may not be understanding that you wed me - "

"You do not wish for us to procure a marriage license?" he snapped.

"That's not what I said." She looked at him cross-eyed.

"Then I fail to see the significance of what others think. If they want to be ignorant bastards, all the more reason for the law to be on my side for punching any man who isn't respectful to you," he huffed.

A fairy-like twinkle filled the air from her laughter. "Is that how you solve problems?" Then she leaned forward and traced the tip of her delicate finger down his nose. "Is that how you got this crook?"

He growled and turned his head away. A simple touch like that shouldn't trigger such ungentlemanly thoughts. "My patient's husband didn't take it well when I checked her labor progress."

Her hand flew to her mouth. The chit tried to smother a laugh! "Oh, you poor baby." She giggled and cupped his face in her hands as she pressed a kiss to his nose.

"And I broke my jaw here once," he grunted and pointed to his chin.

She smiled and didn't seem to mind the whiskers one bit as she gave a kiss.

"And I have a black eye." He pointed. When she gave a gentle kiss just below his eye, he helped the sheet to slip off her. "And my arm is broken."

Her smile grew as she kissed it. "It might be better if I kiss every inch to cover all injuries," she purred and pressed a kiss to his chest.

Dear god, it felt so good, so intimate whenever she kissed his chest. It surged a sense of masculinity and instincts to protect her. A soft grunt of agreement and he closed his eyes. "In a few days, I should be more able-bodied to thank my pretty nurse." Her protest could be sensed, so he continued. "If you argue, I shall be forced to admit you're beautiful," he snapped. "It wouldn't do to also admit that as much as you find your appearance lacking, I find it incredibly erotic. And your mind more so. Neither would it be gentlemanly to say the content of my dreams some nights would make you too much of a blushing bride to remain in my bed." He cracked an eye open to peek.

The woman cocked her head and frowned. "I don't understand."

He pulled her down onto his chest. "If I cannot make love to you yet, a man is only left to fantasize."

Her eyes widened and her face turned a lovely shade of pink. "Oh."

His eyebrow cocked. Oh? "Help me off with my pants, woman, and then lie with me for a nap," he growled.

That beautiful smile returned and she sat up. "Are you back to growling and barking? No wooing from my beau?" Then she eased his pants over his throbbing hip and another part that throbbed and down his aching knee.

A hiss of pain from bending his knee and he grunted, "If you're unhappy with your lot, find another husband. I will not pretend to be what I'm not, woman."

She kissed the tip of his nose and tucked him in. "I think I prefer your blunt growls. I shouldn't know what to do with a man who would court like Mr. Manchester."

That caused a pang of regret. She deserved a gentleman who courted with flowers and poses, not some beast who snapped and growled.

Then she climbed in and tucked herself against his side. "Never would I have imagined ending up with a man like you." Then she laid her belly against his side and her head on his shoulder. "I would very much miss my bear if you courted and wooed me," she chattered. "You growl when you try to hide sentiment, and it's so very sweet. Don't change. I want you to always be my cuddle bear. If you no longer growled, you couldn't be my bear anymore. You make me so impossibly happy that sometimes I cry. I didn't know such happiness existed."

Another pang, but that of heartstrings being pulled...very, very hard. His throat grew tight and tears welled.

"I hope..." her words interrupted with a yawn, "that I can make you just as happy someday. I ..." Her words began to fade as she wore herself out. "I hope one day you'll think its worth it for you to have left everything...to come to America...with me..." Her breathing evened out in sleep.

"Of course I'm following to the ends of the earth. I would follow you to Hell and back," he whispered and pressed a kiss to her hair. And the tears fell.


	30. Chapter 30

"Do you feel up for another lap around the deck?" Grandmama asked a couple days later and kept a firm grip on her elbow.

"Yes! I'm tired of being in a cabin. Mark - " She caught the slip up should anyone overhear until Mark's new name was decided, "I mean, he even said it'd be good for the babe if I walk. It could progress things a little bit so labor won't be as long." She smiled at Grandmama's death grip on her arm. "I won't fall."

"If a wave splashes, it will make the deck slippery."

A laugh threatened - a laugh that would be inappropriate for a grieving widow. "I don't think it will, Grandmama." The January air had a nip, but the sun shined over calm seas today.

Mark approached in the opposite direction with Grandfather to do his daily exercise to heal his hip and help keep his knee from aching with disuse. The poor man still had a significant limp. The hot stones at least seemed to help the aching in his back so he could almost stand straight again.

Grandmama nodded to Mark. "Good day, Mr. Johnson."

She glanced over. More than a nod of acknowledgement might not be acceptable to a man when a recent widow.

Mark touched his forelock at Grandmama and gave her little more than a slight nod as he passed, offering blatant rudeness. These slights in public to protect her reputation had begun to wear thin.

"Really, the man doesn't seem to have many manners," Grandmama said loud enough to be overheard by other passerbys.

Unsure what kind of response would be appropriate, she kept quiet.

On the second lap around the deck, the quick glances from others began grew more frequent. Yet, no one gave a greeting. A few minutes later, Grandfather and Mark approached again, and Grandfather stopped for a moment to talk to Grandmama. Mark didn't even look over, which led to an awkward silence while waiting. So, she turned and walked to the rail, enjoying the fresh, although cold air.

On the third lap, it became clear that the glances were actually stares even though she pulled the cape around enough to hide the babe. It didn't seem to be a gestating woman causing them. Grandmama received the stares too. Half way around the third lap, a false contraction hit. She stopped and held the rail, closing her eyes to breathe through it.

Grandmama gave long strokes down her back and stood to the side, looking out of the sea in a nonchalant manner to the casual observer.

"Is everything alright?" Grandfather's voice cut into the concentration of the breathing exercises Mark had taught.

"More false labor pains," Grandmama said quietly.

"Should Mark check?"

She lifted her head as it passed. "No, I'm fine." Rubbing the last of the ache away, she turned to see Mark standing several paces away offering his profile. He didn't seem the least bit concerned. Of course he'd come if truly needed, but he could at least show some degree of human compassion. He certainly wasn't helping matters if there was to be a betrothal within three weeks. Pushing away from the rail, she took Grandmama's arm and continued walking.

"Tanya, it may be best to rest now," Grandmama said with a note of distress.

"I'm fine." Irritation gave renewed energy.

A couple passed again from earlier. "Is that what an Injun looks like?" the woman whispered to the male companion.

Her feet slammed to a halt. It shouldn't have come as a shock because that term had been thrown around often enough as a child. But apparently enough of Mark's town had been ignorant because it'd been months since anyone had noticed. Grandmama tensed but tugged her arm to keep going.

On the next lap around the somewhat small deck, Grandfather stopped. Mark still didn't glance. "You should rest - "

"I'm fine, Grandfather," she snapped. Going back meant having to talk to Mark about the slurs...to warn him what was coming. Or be examined for childbirth. Neither sounded appealing at the moment.

Grandfather pulled Grandmama aside. "You should take her inside..." His conversation faded into hushed tones. That left more awkward silence with Mark just an arm's length away.

Another stare from the same couple again, who nodded to Mark in acknowledgement but ignored her. Mark rudely turn away and toward them. Of course Mark didn't mean anything other than to protect her reputation, but the smirk on the man's face said exactly what it felt like at the moment - a slur because of heritage.

Humiliation slammed. She brushed past to walk in the opposite direction of where Grandmama talked with Grandfather. Heavy, uneven footsteps followed.

"And where do you think you're going alone, Mrs. Debonairo?" he barked, his tone lacking patience or cordiality.

Stopping dead in her tracks, the public eye could serve in her favor for once. She turned and leveled him with a glare. It wasn't rational, but right now his slights hurt so much. "That's none of your concern, _Mr. Johnson_."

His gaze narrowed and he stopped almost toe to toe. "It most certainly is when a woman - in rather delicate condition - aims to wander alone on a ship with men of all caliber aboard," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Cocking an eyebrow, she held his glare. "As a widow, I have freedoms that are otherwise denied to women. While your concern is so endearing," she spat, "it is unwanted and unnecessary." Then she turned on her heel and marched forward. Pride prevented telling him the whole truth.

"Then I am forced under obligation to follow to ensure your safety if you're going to be pigheaded!" he called and his footsteps followed.

"Ha!" She stopped and turned, already several steps ahead of him. "That," she pointed, "is the sign of an arrogant man who deems it fine to dismiss others but cannot stand it to be done to himself!" Her heart pounded faster in temper.

He scowled and marched forward, holding the railing for support. "Says a woman who is using widowhood to her advantage! It is unsafe - "

"In my mood, it's unsafe for _you_ , Mr. Johnson!" God, it felt good to yell, to let some of this hurt out.

His eyebrows rose and he stopped so close that her belly brushed his shirt. "You will get in the cabin," he growled, his voice so low that no one else would've heard. Those blue eyes bore into her as he glared down.

"My husband would not slight me in public," she hissed. "You are a patient of my Grandfather's, Mr. Johnson. My safety is of no concern to you."

He slammed down a hand on the railing in a temper. Several eyes turned to him. "Get in the cabin, Tanya," he hissed under his breath. "You will do as I tell you."

If those words didn't cause such anger, she would've gaped in dismay. "Why? Because I'm an Injun?" she spat.

His eyes bugged, as if completely blindsided by that remark.

"I will return when I please," she snapped, "Good day, Mr. Johnson." He stared in shock, and she spun on her heel and marched away.

Circling around half the deck, she returned to the cabin, slipped inside and locked the door. Releasing a deep breath, she sat on the bed and let the distant sound of waves crashing and the rocking of the ship fade away the hurt.

A knock sounded on the door a few minutes later. She opened it to Mark, whose brow furrowed in confusion. "Tanya - "

Tears burst out of nowhere. "I don't know why I yelled at you. I don't even know why I'm crying!"

He cradled her against his chest. "I think you do," he said in a patient tone and stroked her back. "Tell me why you think I'd ever be prejudiced against you."

With a sniffle, she shook her head and relayed the woman's comment. "I know you don't mean it that way, but I think they took your slights as scorn. I just...I got so angry."

"As is your right, but do not put such words in my mouth," he said in a hard tone. "And I shouldn't have said you have to obey me, but do not do something dangerous like wander the ship alone. If someone tried to harm you, it could take me hours to search the cabins," he growled. Then he pressed a kiss to her hair and whispered, "I need you."

Nuzzling his chest, she smiled at the confession. "Oh, Mark," she sighed in contentment, "I know. I need you too."

"What do you mean, you know?" he barked. "You are to weep or swoon or, or...I don't know, but not that!" the man studdered.

A giggle bubbled up and she leaned back to look up at him. "Have I left you speechless again, cuddle bear?"

The man's brow furrowed and his mouth moved for a moment from being speechless until he settled on the word, "No!" Then he seemed to regain his composure. "And do not take such pleasure in it, woman!" he huffed.

"But it isn't often the high-bred marquess has no idea what to say," she purred and traced a finger over his lips. "I never thought you a man for a beard, but you're so very handsome with it."

He blinked like the change in topic caught him off-guard.

"Take off your shirt." When his eyebrows rose in confusion, she smiled. "You wouldn't let me use the stones before breakfast, and you look sore."

The man grunted but unbuttoned his shirt.

Stepping behind, she helped ease it down his shoulders. His poor back had green, yellow, black and blue splotches everywhere now that the bruises had begun to heal. The tiny incisions from the blood blisters looked very well on their way, but the large wound from where the wood had entered his back didn't look so good today. "This one is swollen, Mark." She set fingers to the edge of it. "It's warm too. There's too much bruising to tell if it's red."

"It hurts more today. Is your stomach feeling strong?" When she stepped around him and frowned, he added, "There are likely more wood splinters in there. Take a scalpal - "

Her eyes bugged. "You want me to do surgery?!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking you to cut out an organ. See if you feel anything hard."

She lightly pressed, but even that caused a whimper of pain. "I'm not sure."

"Yes or no," he demanded, a bit breathless.

There. A tiny lump almost impossible to feel. Another lump. And a larger one on the side. "There are some tiny ones and a larger one."

"Take a scalpal and make an incision across. It's two, maybe three fingers width. Then take the foreceps and force the incision open to get a good view - I'd rather not repeat this again. Pull out whatever splinters you find." He laid down on the bed. "Hop to it."

"While you're awake?!"

"If it's too much pain, I'll pass out. I'm quite tired of feeling ill from chloroform, and you do not need exposure to it this close to birth."

She marched over to Grandfather's cabin.

* * *

"Right there." Grandfather pointed to a tiny red spot that didn't look like the rest of the blood and gore.

She glanced at Mark to be sure he was still unconscious from the chloroform and then used the forceps and slowly guided out a splinter. Two centimeters...four...almost six centimeters long that ran parallel to his spine. "Grandfather, how did we miss this? If he'd moved just right, it could've gone into his spine." She dropped the splinter in a basin and brought the lantern closer, more determined to find any last sliver that might harm him.

"It wouldn't have been able to do that. His back must hurt so much that he can't feel localized pain. It's a wonder he even gets out of bed." He dug out a tiny splinter inside the incision.

"What if there are more down in his lower back or along the path it drove in?"

"We'll need him awake to tell us if he feels worse pain as I press along the trail. I expected the bruising to be gone by now so we could see if there's infection anywhere - I didn't expect him to have this degree of deep-tissue bruising showing up yet." Grandfather seemed to dig elbow-deep in Mark's back before he gave up after finding nothing else. "You check too. My eyes are not always so good anymore."

She swallowed down bile as Grandfather used the forceps and lifted a flap of skin to reveal part of the pocket where the wood had driven into Mark's back. Mark needed this so infection wouldn't make him ill. Rising to her knees, she searched the cavity and reached for something suspicious about four centimeters inside. It seemed hard on the other end of the forceps, so she gave a soft pull. Another sliver, this one a couple centimeters. "Why is this skin pocket not healed in?" There. Another tiny bump that looked suspicious.

"It was beginning to, but I tore the connecting tissue so we can see if there's anything."

"He will not be up for getting out of bed the rest of today, will he? I think that's the last of them."

"No, I'm afraid he won't. But I think he would prefer a couple days of discomfort than to succumb to infection or be ill when you deliver."

* * *

Even before he could open his eyes, Mark's brow furrowed in pain. His broken arm was closest, so she glided her fingers into his loose fist. "I'm going to put a cold compress on, Mark." The moment the cold settled in, his brow smoothed.

After a few more minutes, he gave a soft grunt. "Feels like sssomething ssshoved in...back," he slurred.

She stroked his hair from her seat on the floor beside him. "We had to dig deep in your back and found more splinters. I'm sorry, honey."

Once he could open his eyes, Grandfather palpated the length of the path the board had taken. "Tell me if it hurts worse." At the bottom right above his hip where the board had stopped right next to his spine, Mark gasped and his hand fisted in hers. "I feel it," Grabdfather said, and took off his belt and held it to Mark's mouth. Mark bit down on it and let go of her hand to clutch the sheets.

Her heart pounded and eyes flew to Grandfather. "What are you doing?"

He washed the spot with whiskey, the simple act causing a groan from Mark. "This will be fast, but there's infection here, so it'll be painful. The belt is so he doesn't break his teeth. Ready?" Mark gave a slight nod and his back tensed.

Grandfather slashed the scalpal over a small spot. Mark cried out and buried his face in the pillow. Rancid yellow infection seeped out. Grandfather splashed whiskey over it, rinsing away the matter. And Mark screamed.

"Stop it! He needs chloroform!" She grabbed Grandfather's arm in a panic.

He met her eyes. "I'm almost done. It is better for his body to go without."

She grabbed Mark's hand, unable to get her fingers into his fist, and stroked his hair. "Do you want chloroform?"

He barely shook his head.

Grandfather pulled out a small wad.

"What is that?" She covered her nose at the rotten stench.

Grandfather gave a solemn look. "His shirt."

All the blood drained from her feet. His shirt, the splinters...oh god, it made sense. It should've been searched for a week ago. Mark now paid the consequences of poor medical care. Anger burned so hot that her hands shook. "I will see to the rest of this," she ground out between her teeth and scrubbed her hands with whiskey.

"I'm sorry. Our people do not wear shirts, and I've never had such a thing happen - "

"I will see to him," she snapped and pushed her way in as Mark panted in agony. "Go."

When Grandfather left, she surveyed the mess. "Mark, I think you need to tell me what to do. There's still infection."

He gasped out directions as she went and finally laid quiet once a bandage covered the open wound. She washed in the lukewarm water and then dumped the tools in, too exhausted to go get boiling water yet. Then she mopped his damp brow and back.

"Don't be angry - he didn't know any better."

"But he should've! I questioned him when he didn't go digging. I should've listened to my gut."

"You would make a damn fine physician - you have instincts for it. They have female medical universities in America." He shifted his legs and grimaced.

"You would be considered deranged for sending me." She eased onto the side of the bed and began a massage, careful to stay away from the surgical areas. His poor back grew hard already in spasm from the renewed trauma.

He hissed in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "I promise to make it up...for you doing the pampering during pregnancy," he gasped and a tiny cry of pain escaped his lips from the intensity of the spams.

"I haven't been prone to needing surgeries like you have. I'm going to get hot stones." Snatching the pail, she dumped the stones and hurried out, running right into Brigands.

Silent tears trailed from his eye to the tip of his nose when she returned. She grabbed the stones as Brigands set the pail beside the bed. Then she dumped them in as Brigands squatted beside the bed.

"My lady, rest. I can see to him." Brigands stood and touched spots on Mark's back. Then he set his hands on one spot and leaned down. Hard. Mark groaned like it offered relief.

But it would be hard to rest with Mark in pain. So she paced and held her own aching back while Brigands saw to him.

Mark opened his eyes and his gaze followed her going back and forth as Brigands laid stones on his back. "Does your back hurt?"

"It always aches from the babe."

"You have a restless look like a woman in labor." He grit his teeth and winced as Brigands did a hard press on another spot. "Contractions?" he asked when Brigands released.

"No, I'm worried about you." The backache intensified and she drew a deep breath. Then it eased a bit.

"She's in labor." He struggled to push himself up.

"I am not! The last thing we need is the babe to come at sea with you incapacitated. Lie down!" Goodness, where had that come from?

He froze mid-sit and blinked.

Brigands kept a passive expression. "My lady, have the master check - he won't rest unless you do. I'll step out."

When the door closed, Mark sat on the edge of the bed and sweat sprang to his brow as he grimaced. He washed with the hot water and then whiskey, mindful of his arm. He closed his eyes and held his breath for a moment from pain until it seemed to ease. "Come. If the babe is coming, you can have pleasure of seeing me panting beside you even after you've delivered."

She stepped closer. "Ha ha. As if it's even your fault, for one. For another, you do not need to try to deliver a babe with one hand and while in pain."

He frowned. "You're dilated, but that's not uncommon in the final weeks of pregnancy."

"The babe isn't due for almost four weeks - "

"And I didn't expect you to make it this far without bedrest." He wiped his hand and then palpated the babe. "He's engaged. I don't think your body will be able to support him much longer. I would venture to say within the week he'll come if you aren't already in labor."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's too soon! What - "

"He will be fine to come now. He'll be small, but he will survive."

Mark said it with such certainty that it helped calm the nerves. "And how will you deliver in your condition?"

"I will make do. The splint does not inhibit use of my hand." He released a slow breath and leaned a hand on the bed like it took strain from his back. "An arm sling will help support my upper back to limit movement and heal from surgery..."

His words faded. Surgery. She'd helped do surgery on him. He would be in no shape to deliver a babe. "What would help the babe stay in longer?" she cut in.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Bedrest is the only thing, but at this stage, you'll deliver when you deliver."

"But even another week would buy you time to heal more."

"Tanya," he said gently, "the babe is sound, but he's already small for gestation. Your body is restricting growth because you cannot support a babe that is much larger. We are lucky that your body has restricted rather than birthed him."

She shifted her feet and held her back. "I have to walk," she panted in distress and walked out.

Uneven footsteps echoed behind. "Wait!"

Turning, she paced to him and shifted her feet long enough for him to put the cape around her shoulders. He'd thrown on a shirt but no cape for himself. She walked down the deck at a quick pace, the motion soothing this strange restlessness. Turning on her heel, she went toward him where he leaned against the wall and watched her pace the deck. Thankfully the wind had picked up and left the deck deserted. She stopped and set her hands on his chest.

His head bowed and he searched her face. "What do you need?" He stroked the babe.

"I don't know. I have to walk." The restlessness returned and she paced the deck again.

"Sweetheart, I think you're in labor. Let's go in the cabin so you're out of the cold."

She shook her head and walked past. "I'm not in labor."

Grandmama stepped out of her cabin and smiled. "She's preparing for birth. I did the same thing about three days before the birth."

"I've seen women pace during labor, but if she keeps up before even being in labor, she'll wear out." He followed as she went back onto the cabin. "Tanya - "

Mark. Touching him would ease the nerves and help remember how to breathe as this next contraction grew worse. She pulled his shirt out of his pantaloons and slid her hands over his heart, cutting off his words. Then she closed her eyes and focused on the steady beat of his heart.

His arm slipped around and he turned her. Then his hand cupped the underside of her belly and he eased her head back against his chest with his other hand. A gentle sway side to side calmed the restlessness and he stroked her belly as best the broken arm would allow. "A low hum helps counter the pressure," he said in her ear and gave a low hum.

Her hum turned into a low moan as a sweeping pressure built and then a contraction squeezed so hard that it felt like it'd take her whole body with it. Puffs in her ear broke through the concentration, and she clutched his hands and panted with him. Another contraction followed on its heels and left her breathless, but Mark didn't waiver.

It took several minutes of inconsistent contractions before they calmed enough to realize that her dress clung to her back and probably had soaked through Mark's shirt. There was a warm wetness on her legs too. Looking down in confusion, her eyes widened. A small puddle had spread underneath and hit Mark's feet too. Oh god, her water had broken all over him. She turned to face him. His shirt was damp from her too. "Sorry - " Another contraction hit and she grabbed his bicep and breathed through it while he applied wonderful counterpressure on her hips.

When it passed, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, grinning like an idiot. "I don't care, Tanya." Then he toed off his stockings and kicked them aside. He helped her slide off the dress and then pressed a kiss to her lips. "You're doing so well, and she's going to be so perfect."

Shaking her head, tears welled. "I'm scared. You can't blame her like Papa blamed me - "

Catching her face in his hands, he held her eyes. "You aren't going to die like your mother. I'm right here, and we're going to do this together. Don't fight your body. I need you to stay calm and trust me."

She held his hands cupping her face and nodded as a tear of fear slid down. "I trust you."

"You can do this, sweetheart." He smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I love you. We're going to have a babe tonight."


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note: Remember that this is set in the 1860s, so medical knowledge and techniques by today's standards are incorrect or outdated.**

* * *

He walked over to where she knelt on the floor and rocked. But didn't touch - she seemed to be focused inward. The best thing to do would be to leave her alone as much as possible so as not to add distress or irritation.

Sitting in the edge of the bed close enough that she could touch if she wanted, he swallowed down the nerves. This day had been dreaded for months - the day he'd have to cut her up and piece back together what that goddamn shit had done to her. But it also was a day for which hope had given up until recently - the day of becoming a father. Tanya didn't have to name him the father or name the babe after him, but she wanted to. She wanted to give him her babe to love and adore forever. If she had complications like her mother, there would be no more children. It could very well be the only chance at being a father. And she gave it without hesitation.

She rose onto her knees and set her hands on his thigh to balance as she rocked her hips. Her eyes remained closed and her brow ever so slightly furrowed in concentration where she knelt over a pallet of towels. He gave slow strokes down the length of her back. She was so beautiful even in labor, so at peace with her body. She moved with such grace and quiet strength. Nothing could ever compare to the beauty of this image.

Her breathing picked up as another contraction came. He leaned forward and squeezed the backs and sides of her hips as best as possible with one hand to counter the pain. "Almost half way through the contraction," he purred. She'd been laboring for two hours. Although the contractions came frequently and lasted longer, she made little progress. But it didn't seem to distress her. The poor love still hadn't gained quite enough weight from the malnutrition and her muscles still suffered some weakness from the atrophy, which wouldn't aid her in birthing.

* * *

Three more hours. No other patient had ever labored so long on the floor, but she seemed to prefer it. She laid her forehead on her arms over his thigh, as if it grew hard to cope with the pain.

Moving her hands to the bed, he stepped behind her. Leaning a hand on the bed for support, he knelt. A sharp pain bolted from knee to hip. It was hard to hold in the gasp of pain, but she wouldn't agree to this if she knew it hurt. Setting his hand on her back, he applied hard pressure on the back of her pelvis where women said it hurt most. "Better?"

She nodded.

There could be so many other pressure points relieved if he had use of both arms. The duration of labor would begin to take its toll on her soon. "Should I get your grandmother? With two hands, she could counter the hip pressure - "

But she shook her head. "Stay," she breathed and pushed herself up. So he stood too. The poor thing paced with her hand on the small of her back and the other stroked the babe.

"I didn't mean I won't help." He reached out to touch her arm to bring her back, but she shook her head and pulled away. It was hard to tell what hurt more - the rejection or the fact that she seemed to think she had to do this without him.

But when she breathed hard again, she returned and set a hand on the side of his neck and the other over his heart as she closed her eyes and bowed her head. He remained still, despite the hard twist to his heart - she sought comfort from him during the worst of the pain. She would give direction for what she needed. The contraction seemed to pass and she resumed pacing, her expression extremely concentrated.

When she came again and set her hand over his heart, he opened his arms and stroked the sides of her hard belly. She seemed to rely on his breathing pattern to follow.

* * *

After a time when she sank to her knees on the palette at his feet, he took a step away to grab a rag to wipe her damp brow. But she caught his leg, with her eyes closed. "Stay," she panted.

"I'm just going to get water for you at the nightstand." Returning with a glass of water and a filled basin, he pressed the cup in her hand. "Drink a few sips so you don't get dehydrated." Once she did, he pulled off her damp chemise. "You're overheating. It's just you and I, so we'll keep this off to cool you, sweetheart." He wiped the cold, wet rag across her brow and neck and body over and over until her cheeks didn't glow so red. The entire time, she kept her hand over his heart.

* * *

Labor had never been this intimate, always consisting of standing out of the way while the woman labored most often with another female for moral support. But she turned to him for that support when she very well could've summoned her grandmother. No words could describe the intimacy, the invisible bond that silently strengthened the love for her. Unfamiliar, raw instincts to protect her took hold with intense force. This wasn't just the familiar protectiveness to keep her from harm - it was a primal instinct to keep anything that might hurt her far, far away. She was too vulnerable in childbirth and needed him for absolute protection.

She returned again during another contraction. The instinct came like a rush of energy, every muscle heightening with tension like a lion pacing outside a cave to keep watch. A need came to pace the deck to ensure she could deliver without any threat nearby. But she needed him here. She needed a doctor more.

"I'm right here," he whispered and pressed on her hip as best as able with one hand as he swayed with her. With his bad arm, he stroked the back of her hand that clasped a fist full of his shirt. "Relax your body, sweetheart," he purred and smoothed her hand flat. "Think of letting the babe come down. Breathe out." He released a long, slow breath that she copied. "Slow breath in through your nose, love. And out."

She followed and set his hands on her belly, guiding him in slow strokes downward. "Don't stop," she breathed, and her brow knit as she struggled to control her breathing during another contraction.

"Let it come. Let it move the babe down," he said in low tones that seemed to sooth her. "Deep breath in." She struggled to not pant. "Good, sweetheart," he purred. He gave firmer strokes. "She's moved down a bit." The fib seemed to help calm her, as if the lack of progress and the increasing pain had begun to take a toll.

* * *

The poor woman labored hours longer without much more progress, seeming to find the most comfort standing with her back to his chest as he stroked the babe and coached her breathing.

* * *

By nightfall, she seemed to tune out everything but the babe and moved her palette to a corner. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching closely. She labored hard and should've been so tired that she wouldn't be able to deliver, but she seemed to find renewed energy. And then she pushed.

His heart shot into his throat. It was hard to refrain from rushing to her. But pushing a first babe often took a long time, and she seemed to want to be left alone. He picked up Tiger's tools and waited. Once she showed signs of distress, she'd be ready for surgery to fit the babe. A surgery that would gladly be exchanged for breaking his other arm if it meant she could avoid the pain it'd bring. Walking over slowly so as not to distract, he set the tools on a fresh towel and then washed. Kneeling on the floor beside her, he waited. She rocked and seemed to find a rhythm to sooth the pain as she pushed. It was the gentlest delivery that she didn't rush. She seemed so at one with her body, as if listening to her instincts for what to do. It was beautiful to witness her bring life into the world.

A soft moan of distress came minutes later and she pressed his hand to her. "Hurts," she whimpered.

The babe's head was almost there. "I know, love. There'll be enough pressure in a moment that some of the pain will fade. Then I'll be able to help you get her out. Can you stand to deliver so I can reach? It will be easier for you than being on your back."

Her breathing sped up to fast pants, and she took his hand to stand.

"Good, love. Now, this will look like more blood than it is. You shouldn't feel it." He grabbed the scissors, leaned down and worked. The goddamn bastard had caused so much scarring that she still couldn't fit the babe with a normal incision. Tears welled at the sound of her whimper as he had to cut more. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Then he grabbed a towel and pressed. "I have to support so you don't tear, love. We're going to see if you're able to stretch because I can't make it much wider without causing complications. I'm going to force her to come slowly so you don't tear. I need you to not fight me."

She grabbed his shoulders and nodded even though she trembled.

Jesus, it was worse than imagined seeing the pain from his doing. "She's coming. Let your body take its time," he cooed. "Once her head comes, I can help guide her shoulders."

"Please," she begged, her body trembling. "I can't."

Taking her hand with his broken arm, he held as tight as possible. Tears burned. "Tanya, if I reach in to help, you'll hemorrhage from a tear that large. Focus on the babe. She has dark hair like you, sweetheart." Oh Jesus, the babe stopped. She kept pushing. He readjusted his pressure. She didn't come this far to have a cesarean and die from hemorrhaging or an infection.

Her strength visibly drained with each heartbeat, and her knees buckled.

He caught her, still holding the towel to the incision to minimize the blood loss. "Oh your knees, Tanya. Gravity will help," he ordered and uprighted her.

She weakly held onto his shirt, pain evident on her face. "I can't," she panted, even her words growing weak as her face paled.

"You can," he snapped. "If you push hard, the her head will come and I can pull her out. You have to be stitched to stop the blood loss. Push!" His heart thundered. She was too weak. Sheer will would be the only way she could deliver without surgery.

She pushed but it made little difference. Even her belly didn't contract as hard.

"Harder! Push!"

Her whole body trembled. The scarring from that bastard would make her die in childbirth.

Fear and panic took hold, drowning everything out with the mocking that she and the babe would die in his arms too.

Grabbing her hand, he pressed it to the top of the babe's head. "Right there. She's right there." It wasn't right, but fear might be the only way for her to find the strength. "If the cord is around her neck, she's dying. Push and I can help both of you."

She opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time in hours. Fear flashed in her eyes - fear as if she could sense Death. It faded away, replaced with determination. And she pushed.

A little head emerged into her hand.

"She's beautiful. She's coming, love." He grabbed the babe's head and maneuvered the shoulders.

She pushed and babe slid into his hands. Love unlike anything ever felt hit with such sudden force that he burst into tears. "It's a boy." He wrapped the babe in a towel.

She sank to the floor, her face white. But she smiled and held out her arms for the babe, with tears shimmering in her eyes.

He handed the tiny babe that fit in two hands to her and suctioned the airways clear. A tiny cry filled the air.

She didn't smile.

"Tanya?" His smile faded, fear gripping that she was going unconscious. Applying pressure to slow the bleeding until the afterbirth came, he glanced at her.

"I shouldn't love him." Then she looked up and her face crumpled. "But I do. I want him to be yours."

"He is mine and has been for the past four months." He stroked the babe's head. "I love him because he's part of you and he's our son."

"You don't have to make him yours. He'd be the firstborn son and - "

"And he is my firstborn son."

Tears slipped down her face. "I love you."

"I love you." He brushed his lips over hers. "Do you feel alright? You're terribly pale."

She held the babe close. "Just tired." She seemed completely content to soothe the babe and oblivious to everything while he took care of the afterbirth and stitched after hooking up a line to give her blood. Her color began to return, thankfully.

"Mark, he won't nurse."

He looked up from his work. The babe would take and then turn his head away and fuss. "Sometimes they don't realize what it is. Get a bit of milk there for him to taste." He kept stitching before the high of birth wore off and this became painful for her.

The babe fussed again after a moment, and her face grew red in embarrassment. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"You aren't doing anything wrong. He needs to learn. Give me a few more minutes because you're bleeding more than I like from this surgery. I never like a new mother to lose more blood than she will anyways from giving birth. Are you feeling alright?"

She nodded and busied herself with the babe again.

He sat back. She had so many sutures. The poor thing would have trouble sitting until a few days.

"Ah!"

He startled.

"He's nursing!" She beamed a smile and then made a funny face.

The babe fell asleep.

"Oh." She frowned. "That wasn't much. You must be tired from such a big day." Then she looked up, her energy seeming to come back a bit. "Why is there a tube in your arm?" Her eyes followed it to where it ended in her thigh. "Are you giving me blood?! You're not well!"

"A bit won't harm me, and you lost more than your share. You'll bleed for a few weeks after birth, so you need it. Don't argue with me," he ordered. Thankfully, she didn't.

"Is he alright? I've never seen a babe this small."

He washed his hands, got her in bed and took the babe. He unwrapped the babe. He was quite small - not even five pounds and had minimal body fat. Respirations were adequate, and he didn't have sounds of lung or cardiac issues. If his stupid arse had married her weeks sooner like he should've, she and the babe wouldn't still have signs of starvation.

"Is something wrong with him?"

Starvation. He palpated the potbelly. It was like he had goddamn starved even late in pregnancy, almost as if... Grabbing the basin with the afterbirth, he dug through. There. The placenta had started to die not unlike those of starving women's babes back in Africa. She'd given birth early not because of the scarring but because her body had finally rejected the pregnancy. The placenta was too large compared to the babe - like that seen from starvation. She'd likely been underweight prior to pregnancy too, further complicating fetal growth. Think. She had plenty of food the past four months - this shouldn't have occurred this late in pregnancy unless something was still wrong with... His eyes flew to her. She had filled out and usually had sound color. Her heart rate had even increased within the past weeks to that of an average person not needing to conserve every possible bit of energy. She ate almost or as much as himself. With the babe out, her ribs protruded far more than thought. Her grandparents didn't have willowy frames...her frame should have more fullness like her grandmother. The blood drained to his feet as it dawned. Oh dear god. She was still starving.

He reached out and palpated her stomach, already far smaller than it should be right after birth. Jesus, pregnancy had masked the starvation. There were no goddamn textbooks to guide this. She must need more food intake not just for a few weeks but for several months. Shit. Her stomach being full at meals wasn't a normal stomach being full but that of a stomach shrunk from malnutrition. It had to be the explanation.

She looked at him with a solemn expression and fear in her eyes. "There's something wrong with Charles, isn't there?"

Bile rose in his throat. "You're both still starving," he whispered.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise and then she frowned. "I'm not hungry after meals. My bones don't show anymore. I'm fine. Mark?"

He walked out and knocked on Lily's door.

She opened it with a grin. "Did the babe come? We heard crying."

"Watch Tanya," he croaked. Then he spun on his heel and walked to the back of the ship. Holding a hand to his mouth, he fell to his knees as a wave of nausea hit. He'd starved her and the babe, and only by God's grace had they both survived the pregnancy. Leaning over the railing, he heaved. He had no business practicing medicine. He'd killed Anna and now almost Tanya and the babe. The babe looked so fragile and wouldn't make it if he didn't eat plenty - from a woman who herself starved. He was such a sick bastard that he'd found her 'willowy' - starving - body arousing. He heaved again. He should be shot. A fucking fine physician he was and a perverted husband.

* * *

"Where is Mark, Grandmama?" She glanced at the door again as the babe nursed. Twenty minutes he'd been gone. This wasn't like him.

Charles shifted in her arms. She adjusted the blanket to keep decent.

Mark walked in with a large plate of food and set it on the bed. "Eat." His eyes were red, as if he'd been weeping. Goosebumps covered his bare chest.

"Grandmama, would you excuse us?" When Grandmama left, she caught his hand.

But he pulled free and backed up from the bed as his face hardened. "You are to eat all of that!" His voice cracked.

"Mark, stop blaming yourself," she said softly.

A snort of disgust filled the air. "Yes, because I'm doing an excellent job of poisoning my first wife and starving my second! And I almost killed our son!"

Her brow furrowed. "I do not expect you to be God. I was with child to complicate things, and even I thought I was better. You are human and will make mistakes. Get over here and hold your son."

He hesitated.

"Come," she ordered. "He needs his father right now more than a surgeon."

He came closer and sank onto the edge of the bed.

She eased Charles onto his bare shoulder. "Burp him."

Mark's hand covered the babe's entire back, and the little thing curled up his legs and arms into a tiny ball and slept. He shook his head. "I'll hurt him." He tried to return Charles.

"He won't die," she said softly. "You are a good surgeon and will get him better. And you will be a good father."

He cradled the babe on his shoulder and burst into tears, shaking his head. "I let you both starve..." His words melted into sobs.

She pulled him down to hold him. "You know now. You'll heal us." Stroking his hair, she pressed a kiss to his temple.

Fussing over her and the babe seemed to ease his guilt, so she let him.

"I'm checking your bleeding for the next several days, and you will undress for exams so I can monitor your weight." In other words, so it's easier to notice any issues because he didn't trust himself anymore. He checked for mastitis and then gently palpated her belly.

She frowned. "Why do I still look pregnant?"

A snort filled the air. "You should look far more pregnant. Your womb took nine months to stretch to fit Charles. It can't go back in a day. Each week will be significantly less. Nursing him will help to cause contractions to shrink it too." Then he grew very serious and laid his fingers over where ribs showed prominently now with the babe out of the way. He palpated where her stomach sank in right below the ribs. "Did you ever finish your plate and leave our table hungry?" The man didn't meet her eyes.

Laying a hand over his to still him, she searched his guilt-stricken face. "Once the morningsickness got under control, I never knew hunger under your roof," she said gently. "I felt as if I could eat forever and sometimes had two or three plates after you left the table."

"You will resume eating large or frequent meals," he ordered. Then he looked at the babe sleeping beside her. "He must eat every two hours. I don't care how long it takes to get him to actually eat. Two hours on the dot."

Her heart beat faster. "You look scared," she whispered and swallowed back the tears. "Is he going to die?" She looked up.

"His thinness and swollen belly are a concern. If he eats and puts on weight, he will grow stronger."

* * *

Poor Mark woke up several times during the night to check her and the babe. He wore himself out and slept like the dead until early morning. His eyes opened where he laid on his side next to where she propped up in bed.

"Look." Happiness made her face almost split in two with a smile. She turned at the waist to show him Charles nursing. "He ate for fifteen minutes, and then he woke an hour later for more. He's opening his eyes like he feels better. Well, not right now because he's getting tired again. He has your blue eyes."

He pushed himself up with a silent gasp of pain from his back.

"I forgot you're wounded," she frowned.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, ignoring her comment. He pulled down the sheet to see the bleeding.

She pulled the sheet up to her waist with red cheeks. "Just because I agreed to be naked so you can check me throughout the day doesn't mean you can just do what you please."

The man rolled his eyes. "May I check your incision?"

"Yes, you may because you _asked_." She let go of the sheet. "And I tried to get up, but it hurt too much. I think I'll need you to pull me out of bed."

"You're quite swollen. There is no ice on the ship, but even a cold rag would give you some relief." He pushed himself to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Honey, you should stay in bed with your back. Grandmama can help."

He got up and shuffled to the basin of water and dunked a rag. Then he shuffled back and took care of things far too personal.

"Mark, I can see to the bleeding." Goodness, a surgeon for a husband had its downfalls.

"I need to monitor it anyways," he grunted.

"You cannot tell me that you go back to homes and do this with other women."

"The perks of being wed to a physician," he muttered.

"I was rather thinking the downfalls," she laughed and then whimpered. "Oww. No one says it hurts to laugh and sit and get up after birth."

"You have it worse because of the surgery. I'll help you up to use the chamber pot. And before you bite my head off," he added, "I will wait outside."

A smile tugged. "Then shall I wait outside for you?" The poor man needed a smile - he looked tired and painful and miserable.

"I'm so damn tired that I could piss off the side of the boat and not care who saw, but I do care if someone sees my wife naked," he snapped.

She covered her mouth to hide a smile. "I'm only teasing."

"I'm not in the mood," he growled. "I feel like goddamn hell and my son and wife are underweight and my wife had an extensive surgery right after birth and my goddamn nerves are shot." He held out his hand. "I only have one good arm, so grab this hand and arm."

Settling the babe safely in the middle of the bed, she smiled and pushed back the sheets. "Technically, you could probably call me your mistress being we aren't legally wed." She gave him a shy look from beneath her eyelashes to coax a smile.

His jaw visibly flexed even under the beard and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Thank you for the reminder that you and the babe aren't legally mine," he barked.

Her smile softened, and she set her hand in his and held his arm. "And it makes you taking care of us so much more special because you don't have to," she said gently.

He looked away and his throat convulsed. The man cleared his throat. "Don't say goddamn things like that when I'm trying to be cranky," he growled. Then he tugged her to her feet.

She panted and clutched him as painful throbbing took hold upon being upright. "Oh god, let me faint," she half laughed and half cried.

"Do you need help using the chamber pot - "

"No! Go."

"You have to let go."

A weak laugh melted with the automatic tears of pain that fell. "Oh god, it's so swollen, I'm scared to look if I wet the bed."

That earned a choked laugh from him. "You didn't."

"Ow, ow," she whimpered as the laughter grew. "Shit, I think I'm going to go on the floor." Oh god, there was no way it'd be possible to use the chamber pot without his help.

He burst out laughing, grabbed the pot and held it for her. "I should forewarn you that you should stay in the cabin for a few days because with the trauma of childbirth, you might need a chamber pot urgently. I promise I will not think a thing of this."

"For the record, this never happened." Her cheeks burned as she tried to hold back a laugh for the sake of less pain.

"For the record, this makes me less mortified because I'm too tired to go over the side of the ship!" He chuckled like that of an overtired man.

For some reason, that was too funny. "It's alright, I'll hold it for you next!"

Minutes later, she laid in bed next to him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Oh god," she laughed, "I'm mortified."

He laid on his side and stroked Charles's little fingers where he slept between them. "It's a bonding experience!" He burst into chuckles again and wiped his eyes. "Damn, I'm tired."

She smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "I missed sleeping on my back."

His lingering laughs immediately vanished. "You don't usually sleep on your side?"

"Rarely. It was hard to sleep through the night being on my side from Charles." She glanced at him to see a solemn expression. "Why?"

The man shrugged and kept his gaze locked on stroking Charles's tiny hand. "I got used to you sleeping curled up on me," he grunted.

"I suppose I can try sleeping like that still. At least to fall asleep."

His eyes drifted down to her belly that was mostly flat when lying on her back. "I've never known you when not with child."

She set a hand on her soft belly. "Sometimes I forget we haven't been wed for even six months." Then she turned her head to look at him. "I looked better with child - he at least gave me more curves." Her face burned with embarassment.

He moved his hand to rest over hers and held her eyes. "You have no reason to hide your body from me. I would venture to say that you've been underweight your whole life, and it perhaps accounts for your small frame. You and the babe are like this yet because of me - "

"Mark, it is not your fault. I was at least forty pounds underweight for pregnancy, according to you and Dr. Englewood. I gained twelve the first two months and another thirteen the past two months, so twenty-five. That's still eight pounds for my own weight - "

He shook his head. "You are more underweight than we thought. I think you had starvation bloat that masked some of this. You could still gain at least fifteen pounds."

She turned her hand over to hold his. "My point is my activity has been somewhat restricted, so I don't have the muscle back. It's impossible for me to have all of my weight back. And for all we know, Charles may've been affected so much at no amount of my weight gain would make him bigger."

It didn't seem to convince him.

She smiled as his arms slipped around a few days later and cupped her breasts "Are you feeling better, husband?" Setting down the freshly folded nappie, she glanced at Charles asleep on his floor pallet for his afternoon nap. His hands slid down to her belly that only had a small pooch now. Heavens, it was exciting that he wanted to touch, much less that the starvation didn't seem to make him think her less beautiful.

"You have lost weight," he growled.

So that was an exam, a measurement - not a caress. Hurt surged. Spinning around, she pushed his hands away. "I'm sick of you only touching to measure if I've gained a half pound!" she spat in low tones to not wake Charles.

He scowled. "Your ribs show again!" he hissed. "Am I a good husband to let you waste away?! Be still and let me see."

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. "No."

His eyebrows rose. "No?" Then his brow snapped together in a temper. "What do you mean, 'no'? This is not a choice!"

"I did not get a cabin with a surgeon. You have done enough poking all week. You can touch me when you decide to do so as a husband."

His jaw dropped. "You need medical care!" he boomed.

Charles startled and burst into tears. She fetched him and swayed the babe in a rocking motion. "You are wound so tight this week that I can't stand it. Go for a walk."

"You're kicking me out?" His jaw dropped.

"Yes. You can come back once you find my husband."

He grabbed a shirt, jerked it on - and gasped and cursed at hurting himself - and stormed out with the slam of the door.

She reclined on the bed and nursed the babe. "Papa is very worried about us and life in America." She stroked his silky strands of hair as he gazed up with big eyes that had gradually begun to turn gray the past few days. "It would make Papa very happy if one of us put on weight. You're becoming such a good eater," she cooed.

He stormed back in a few minutes later and slammed the door, still spitting mad. "I will check you - "

Standing up, she hurried toward him and pulled him down for a sound kiss. When she broke the kiss, he stared in surprise. Keeping a hand behind his head, her fingers massaged his scalp. "I am always first and foremost your wife, and second your patient."

The man didn't have any words for that for several moments and looked away. "You do not have a mirror to see how thin you look without the pregnancy. Your weight loss this week is visible. He looks not all that much worse than you," he said quietly.

She stroked his cheek. "Mark, we're going to be alright. He's eating much more now, and even you said I would lose weight with nursing. You load my plate and I eventually eat everything. I'll get better soon. All you do is examine and analyze us. _Be_ here. Be a husband and a father - you are missing out on him being a newborn."

"I have no idea of how hard America will be or how I'll find work." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know if there are food rationings in the Colorado winter or if we'll have a warm place to sleep."

She caught his hand that ran through his hair yet another time. "Stop. If worse comes to worse, we live with my grandparents for a time. Sometimes you can't have a plan for everything always."

"But this is our lives."

"And I have lived on nothing but the clothes on my back and in a drafty shack. You are a good shot?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"You can hunt our food. I caught and cleaned rabbits plenty as a child. I'm sure Grandmama can teach me how to clean deer or other animals." When shame crossed his face, she caught his eye. "Perhaps if I was raised in Anna's class, I would say otherwise. But, you have to remember that I do not know better. Even what you can offer right now is more than what I have had most of my life."

He scowled. "You speak as if it's a bad thing that you do not cry and pout should you have to get your hands dirty. Why is it not that you _do_ know better?" he snapped. "And another thing - _I_ am the physician! If I say you need the sutures or bleeding or your weight checked, you do not argue with me!" he shouted and thrust a finger at the ground, with so much distress in his eyes that he looked close to tears. "You will stand still and let me check if you've lost more weight!"

She tilted her head and searched his eyes. "Mark," she said gently, "I'm not going to die like Anna did."

His body immediately tensed.

"I know you aren't sure why I'm still losing weight, but it could be as simple as the baby weight is shedding. I've gone along with the exams two or three times a day because I know that you're scared because you don't understand what's happening. But I feel fine, and you can't find that anything is wrong." She took his hand. "I'm willing to have daily exams because I understand that after what happened with Anna, you might need that extra reassurance. But I won't agree anymore to it being several times a day because that's not healthy for you to let it be that consuming. I will submit once more today to a full exam to calm your fears. I would not allow any other surgeon to do this much, though, and I'm doubtful you would do this much to other patients."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Stripping everything, she laid on the bed and let him palpate and check everything he possibly could.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you," he said in subdued tones. "Even besides what I did to her, Anna's death was horrible. She wasted too." Tears welled in his eyes. "I know I'm irrationally scared. I don't want to see it happen to you." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "Maybe if I would've checked her regularly like this, I would've felt the cancer when we could've just cut it out." His face crumpled. "I don't know how to stop needing to check you."

"Oh, Mark," she cooed and sat up. When she held out her arms, he sat on the edge of the bed and held on so tight. "Charles and I will be alright. It's not cancer. You need to have faith and trust in your medical skills. Tell me what all you've checked and what you've found." Her eyebrows rose as he ran through the list of what all had been checked without findings. When he finished, she sighed and sat back. "Oh goodness. There'd be no need for surgery to check anything because I think you've checked it all," she teased.

He didn't smile, but he did seem a bit more relaxed.

"Oh, come now. Sometimes we need someone to tell us when we're acting crazy. You, honey, are acting crazy. I think we need to wean you off of these exams. I will make you a deal - for every pound I gain, you go that many days between exams. So, if I gain two pounds, you can examine me again on the third day."

He hesitated. "It's important to closely monitor your weight gain or loss. Once weight starts to come on, I will examine you every other day the first week. If it progresses well, three times the next week and twice the week after. Then it will be weekly until you stabilize at a healthy weight. I will continue to monitor the postpartum bleeding for the time being, however. It's still a bit heavier than I'd like to see, but you seem to be tolerating the blood loss. Now that your milk has come in, the uterine contractions while nursing should help speed along the recovery."

Her cheeks burned. "You know, you don't have to go into such detail."

"It does not hurt for a nurse to learn." He stood and pulled Grandfather's stethoscope out of the bag.

A smile spread so big that it almost hurt. "Did Grandfather put an idea in your head?"

He sat on the bed and set the cool stethoscope to her chest. "I put it in his." The man was silent for a moment as he listened in various spots. "Deep breaths." When he finished, he took off the stethoscope and proceeded to feel along her throat. "It would be some late nights if I needed assistance with surgery, the pay is terrible and there may be a few faintings thrown in. If it was serious disease, I would not take you - I've caught mumps and Scarlet Fever and many illnesses, and do not fall ill to them anymore - "

She frowned. "Is it unusual to have much illness as a child?"

He dropped his hand in his lap and gave a dry look. "Your father let you run rampant near illness, didn't he?"

She shrugged. "I was left to look after myself and scrounge for food. I often found the best place to pick pockets - " Her eyes widened at the slip. Oh dear god. Now he knew he'd wed a thief too.

His teeth audibly ground and a deep sigh of irritation slipped out of his nose. "A child left to starve will take whatever means present themselves in exchange for food. It is that damn bastard that should be ashamed." His eyes narrowed in a temper. "Had I known circumstances when I'd met him, I would've given him my greeting in the back alley," he growled.

"As endearing it is that you want to beat up a dead drunk, it is neither here nor there now." She raised her chin. "I often went to the city to procure means for food. I happened to pick pocket a surgeon, who noticed I was ill. He had me come every two weeks to his house in the city - I was his charity, he called it," she spat and kept her head high. "I did not hate him because he cured me of tuberculosis, Scarlet Fever, dysentery and many diseases of the poor. So perhaps, husband, I should keep you out of the ill houses."

He gave a slow, single nod. "I meant no offense to imply a female fragility." His eyes twinkled. "It will be most interesting should you decide to be my nurse."

That sounded suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you have an incredible intelligence and an instinct for medicine. I suspect I will be kept on my toes."

A blush swept up. "Says a world renown physician to a woman who never even finished the schoolroom."

He leaned across and rested a hand on the bed. "Then it makes me a sound judge of intelligence," he said in a low, husky tone and his eyes fell to her lips.

Her heart skipped a beat and she glanced at his mouth so close that his breath caressed. "Will you make love to me once I'm healed from the babe?" Her voice came out breathless.

"Once we are wed again." He leaned closer. "I will make love to you for days," he whispered and his lips pressed against hers.

A tiny wail filled the air.

He broke the kiss and smiled. Then he fetched Charles from the palette and handed him over. "He's hungry."

Once the babe settled into nursing, Mark leaned forward and nibbled her neck. She giggled. "Your beard tickles, but I very much like it. I've never liked beards before. But yours is so sexy. Don't shave it off."

He growled. "You say such things when I can do nothing about this need for you, woman?" His lips trailed down her collarbone.

"My goodness, you are in need, aren't you? I should get dressed."

A deep growl in his chest answered. "Did I say you may?"

A soft laugh. "I love it when you're surly. May I have my clothes now?"

"No," he panted and guided her hand between his legs, and he kissed her jaw. "You do not have chills and you do not mind me seeing your nakedness. I'm sore and stressed and tired and will have you as I want a while longer."

A thrill of pleasure ran through at his words. "Yes, Mark. But the babe - "

"Has been asleep."

She glanced down. Charles hadn't even started nursing before returning to slumber.

"Tanya, there must be something wrong with me that I still want you even when you're not well." His chest heaved and the kisses grew more passionate.

A smile bloomed as her heart melted. "No, Mark. It simply means that you love me enough to not see what's on the outside."

"I do love you," he whispered against her neck. "I love you more everyday."


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note: Thanks, Old Soul in Wonderland and Awed.**

 **Blood typing was not known in this era. Research had just discovered that human blood killed dogs in transfusions. What Mark discusses happening is someone receiving incompatible blood type, which can be fatal.**

* * *

Another moan.

She smiled. The massage seemed to help his poor back. The man had neglected himself so much the past week while tending to her and Charles that he'd ended up bedridden with back spasms. Leaning all her weight onto her hands over his heavily muscled shoulder blades, she pressed. His poor back cracked and popped.

"Oh dear god, marry me," he gasped. "This is better than sex."

A giggle escaped. "You are funny. But I hope you still do not think that after we actually make love. I don't know how you aren't in tears with your back so out of alignment." Another press on the middle of his back to force out the muscle knots.

"Ohhh, god, Tanya," he moaned at the pain relief. Then he released a deep sigh. "You think highly of yourself?"

Another smile broke free and she massaged the thick muscles. "Husband, all embarrassment has fled after you seeing me give birth. And I'm still very much enjoying being able to move without a huge belly in the way."

He frowned. "I miss your belly."

"I promise that you won't miss it once we're both healed," she whispered in his ear and nipped his earlobe.

He slowly rolled into his back. "I think I'm cured. Will I have an enthusiastic wife on my hands?"

Climbing onto the bed, she straddled his hips, moving slow so as not to make the stitches protest. Then she leaned her hands on the bed on each side of his shoulders and smiled, letting her loose hair create a curtain. "Not at all," she purred.

The man grinned like a fool and rested a hand on her hip as his eyes dilated with desire. "A shame. I should think I'd enjoy it."

She pulled off the dress and leaned down to kiss his neck. "Your voice is still deeper from the smoke," she mumbled.

He breathed faster and squeezed her hip. "It's been nearly three weeks - odds are it's permanent," he said breathlessly.

"Does it hurt?" She pressed a kiss to where his heartbeat pulsed in his neck.

"No," he breathed, his body melting under her hands.

"Then it makes me want you," she whispered in his ear and flicked her tongue over his earlobe.

He shuddered and gasped. Then he looked down as she kissed her way down his chest. "At this rate, we'll never make it to a wedding."

She gave a naughty smile as he grew restless with her trailing kisses down his stomach.

"You play with fire," he panted, his breathing growing faster. "The - " His body tensed and his eyes rolled back as the kisses trailed down. His hand clutched a fistful of the sheets as she explored.

"Oh my," she smiled a few minutes later. "You are a man of passion." She pressed a kiss to his heaving chest.

"You are the best pain medicine I've ever had," he sighed. His eyes drifted closed as she reached under and massaged the sides of his shoulders, back and hips.

"Sleep," she whispered.

"I don't want to sleep," he sighed again. "I don't hurt right now."

"Then you should fall asleep before you start to hurt again." She sprinkled kisses on his neck.

"Then I have to miss you," he whispered and kneaded her back with his good hand. The man looked so relaxed with his eyes closed.

"Ohh." A smile and blush arose. "You get just a little bit sentimental when you're unwell, did you know? It's so very sweet." She brushed a kiss over his lips.

His eyes cracked open, the pain returning in them already. "It's easier to bear the pain with you near," he replied quietly, his voice already falling soft and flat like when he'd draw into himself from the pain.

She stroked his hair as her heart broke. "Oh, my love," she sighed, "whatever am I to do to get you better?" Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his brow and sat back. He looked miserable again, with that withdrawn dullness in his eyes again like all he could think about was the pain. "I don't understand why your back still hurts so much."

* * *

While nursing the babe, she sat on the edge of the bed and kept an eye on Mark. His back spasms seemed to grow worse all day, and Grandfather couldn't find anything causing it.

Mark's breathing picked up to rapid pants.

"What's wrong?" Her heart beat faster as his face contorted in pain.

"Get the ship's surgeon," he gasped and clutched the sheets.

He was so worried about compromising her reputation that something must be terribly wrong for him to blow their cover. "Why? What is it?" She pulled off Charles and set him on the floor where he'd be safe as she pulled up her dress.

"My legs are going numb," he gasped. "A spinal - "

She tore out the door before he could finish. His medical books had mentioned spinal injuries. Numbness usually meant paralysis. Only a page had been dedicated to the little known yet about the spine. Sending up a prayer that the surgeon had more experience than Grandfather, she burst into the infirmary.

The surgeon looked up from where he checked a patient's ankle on the exam table.

"Come! A man with back injuries is having leg numbness! Come!"

He had enough brains to realize the urgency and grabbed his bag and ran after her. In the room, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. "Help stabilize his back, and we'll roll him over."

Mark all but screamed from the pain.

The surgeon pulled back when he saw the bruising and sutures in Mark's back. His eyes flew to her in horror.

"I found him beaten on the ship when we left port." She dumped whiskey on Mark's back and washed him since the surgeon seemed too dumbfounded. "He had a plank of wood embedded in his back here to here," she explained and then grabbed his hands to scrub with hers since he seemed too much in shock. "It was angled right at his spine. I'd wager something is still in there pressing on it." She pressed a scalpal into his hands. "Get it out." Then she leaned down to Mark. "I'm sorry, but I'm hoping if we pull it out, you'll have instant feeling again. I need you awake to say if not."

He gave a tiny nod as he panted and sweat ran down his brow from pain.

She looked at the surgeon who didn't move. "Go! Paralysis could set in!"

"I'm not going to just hack him open! I've never heard of such a theory that it's spinal compression! He needs hot rags and - "

"You've operated on a back? Know the anatomy?"

"Yes, but - "

"Then cut!"

"You are insane!"

"Do it. If you get in there and there's nothing, then you can try your way."

"Do it," Mark whimpered.

Grabbing a strap from Grandfather's bag, she put it to Mark's lips and he bit down on it.

* * *

Holding the babe as he wailed and holding Mark as he wept from pain after the surgery that didn't yet restore his feeling, she burst into tears too. Lying in bed and getting the babe settled to nurse away his hunger from an interrupted meal, she cradled Mark's head on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

The surgeon had come to believe her when he'd found a piece of wood pressing against Mark's spinal cord. And then he had given Mark chloroform and made several incisions along the path of the plank, pulling and lifting muscles to check for more debree rather than cut through muscle. He had been an excellent man of science and found more wood that had been causing Mark pain most likely. But his method would leave Mark in terrible back spasms for days until the muscles calmed from the trauma. Sedating Mark was unadvised - he wouldn't be able to tell anyone if the numbness grew worse.

"You'll get better now." Tears ran down her face almost as much as Mark's. The hot stones didn't seem to help him at all. So she held him as he wept for hours until he exhausted himself so much that he fell into a fitful sleep.

Whenever he was awake the next two days, he was in tears from back pain. She wept as much as him.

* * *

It'd been days since Mark had eaten, and he just laid in bed and panted.

"The pain is exhausting him." She brushed at her eyes and laid more cold rags on his back. "He needs sedation."

"What's his name?" the surgeon asked.

"Mark." Then she froze. Shoot. No going back now.

"Do you want to be sedated, Mark?" But Mark just panted and seemed so focused inward with his eyes closed that he didn't respond. The surgeon leaned down to be eye level and set a hand on Mark's bare shoulder. "Mark? Do you want sedation? I prefer not because you have some swelling that concerns me yet, but Mrs. Debonairo is concerned that you're growing too exhausted."

He slowly shook his head. "If Tanya...stays." A low moan of pain finished and his grip on her hand tightened.

The surgeon looked up at her and his eyes narrowed. "What's going on? You found him three weeks ago and are on first name basis and your dress was unbuttoned when you came for me." He gave a pointed glance at where the neckline had gaped from not buttoning it in her hurry to the infirmary while nursing the babe. "If this is some kind of affair - "

She knelt beside the surgeon. Mark was in no condition to help spin the story, so she took a deep breath. "My husband was a known madman. It was an arranged marriage. I didn't see the madness until a couple months ago. I left him and he burned himself alive in a fire the night before the ship departed." She looked at Mark, whose brow furrowed as he panted and kept his eyes closed. "I found Mark with my Grandfather the night the ship left port - he was thrown in the cargo crates at the back of the ship and unconscious with all of his injuries. He says a robbery. My grandfather practiced medicine somewhat in America." Then she looked at the surgeon. "I'm a widow, which gives me liberty to care for a sick man in my cabin without scandal. I've never known gentleness or kindness like what he's shown me. He's a gentleman when I must nurse the babe while tending to him. He helps with the babe when he's able - like my babe is his own child." Tears welled. "He's a good man...I love him. He understands the compromise all this has caused, and he's asked for my hand. But being a new widow, it would ruin _him_ if I accepted. He's nothing but a soldier and would not be able to overcome such scandal. He refuses to leave my side, promising he'll wait until I can accept him. I beg you, don't tell anyone he's in here."

"Gossip has already spread with passengers who saw him exit your cabin. I should say that a public engagement is less likely to ruin both of you." He sighed and gave a long look. "I married for love. When she passed, I took an arranged marriage so my son would have a mother. He's grown now, and the sea as my mistress brings me more pleasure than my wife ever could. So, I spend eleven months of the year at sea and dread the month each year when I must return home." He looked away. "It is not my place to deny you the happiness you've found. We will sedate him for an hour at night so he can fall asleep." He dug out a syringe. "This will work better than chloroform."

She leaned forward and kissed Mark's cheek, still holding his hand tight. "I'll be here the whole time."

"I'm sorry," he breathed and forced his eyes to squint open.

"Whatever for?"

His eyes said it all - sorry for leaving her the sole caregiver after giving birth, for not being able to offer her a better life...and for possibly becoming a paralyzed husband.

She stroked his hair. "You've been unwell. There is nothing to be sorry for. And you'll get better."

* * *

She walked in with a bowl of soup two days later. His pain had improved, but he still picked at food. She stopped in her tracks. "You're up."

Mark reclined against pillows. Grandfather stood near the bed. The surgeon sat on the edge and listened to his chest.

And Mark moved his feet under the blanket.

Her jaw dropped. "You can move your legs?"

Mark smiled.

"The feeling is coming back!" She practically screamed and shot forward and threw herself into his lap, crying with him in happiness.

* * *

"And she thinks this will do what?" Mark asked the surgeon as she slipped into the cabin that evening. The middle-aged surgeon and Grandfather stood on each side of Mark and kept him steady.

"She thinks that walking will help you get leg function back faster," she answered and set down a full dinner plate. "Plus, you've been bedridden almost two weeks, and it's good for you to start getting up."

He gave a look. "I think I regret giving you medical books," he said dryly and took a slow, shuffle walk around the room with help.

A huge smile bloomed and she walked over, taking Grandfather's place.

Mark scowled. "You are to be resting. Mama," he added pointedly.

"I am fine from childbirth. How do your legs feel?"

"Just a little bit of residual tingling."

Once everyone left, she went to the tray of food just as Charles began to fuss.

"Let me. I won't pick him up if I'm dizzy." Mark pushed himself to the edge of the bed and managed to get up as she refrained from jumping to his aid. He got over to Charles's pallet and leaned against the wall to sink to the floor. "Maybe too much for one day," he said a bit weakly.

She hurried over, but he picked up Charles and cradled the babe in his arms. A tear rolled down his cheek and stopped her in her tracks.

He looked up. "There are days I know happened but don't remember them. Everything's a blur. How old is he?"

Tears burned for how heartbroken Mark looked at having to ask how old his son was.

Walking over, she knelt beside them. "You've been very ill, honey. He's two weeks."

That answer seemed to physically hurt him. "Two? Have I been checking if he's alright?"

"You have." She stroked Mark's whiskered cheek. "You don't remember holding him? You try to at least once a day."

He shook his head. "I remember pieces of things." The tips of his fingers rubbed a tiny circle over Charles's belly that soothed the cries. "Does he suffer colic?"

Oh dear. Mark really didn't remember much. But, being in that extreme pain, it was a wonder that he remembered anything. "No, honey. He usually cries like that when his nappie is wet."

"Oh." The poor man looked devastated like he'd just failed at being a father.

Taking Charles, she set him on the floor and changed him as Mark watched. She glanced at him again. He concentrated like trying to learn how to do it. "Fold it up like this and then across. Then pin it at the front." She handed him the pin.

He copied and tried to carefully maneuver the pin.

Charles's face scrunched up and he let out a wail to high heaven, tears instantly rolling from his cheeks. Mark must've pricked him.

Instead of Mark giving up, he scooped up Charles - not seeming to care about dropping the pin and letting the nappie fall off in his lap as he picked up his son. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He cradled the babe's head and brushed a kiss over the tiny cheek. "Don't cry," he cooed and reclined the babe in his good arm. His other hand stroked the tiny tummy. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Shhh," he cooed and swayed the babe. "Don't cry, son. Don't cry."

Tears welled. Mark was so perfectly tender and patient with the babe. And then he absolutely melted her heart.

He shrugged off his shirt and curled up the naked babe onto his own bare chest like a bed. Then he used his shirt as a blanket to cover Charles. The wails stopped. "You need Mama for that, love," he chuckled.

The babe's head wiggled. Mark's shirt slipped down to reveal Charles rooting with his tiny mouth wide open like a baby bird. Mark smiled - his first truly happy smile in many days - and handed the babe over.

She unbuttoned the front of her dress and then hesitated. Charles needed to nurse from the scarred breast this time. Timing had worked out up until now so Mark had never needed to see the babe nurse on that side - never had to see her help Charles keep the deformed breast in his mouth and help get the milk out. Grabbing Charles's small blanket, she draped it over her shoulder to keep covered.

"You won't nurse him from that breast in front of me?" he growled, as he tended to do when hurt.

Pausing and looking up in surprise, she flushed. "It doesn't work as it should - "

"If the goddamn shit hadn't tried to do a fucking mastectomy, it would!" He must've noticed her widened eyes because he ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. "I hate that you still have to deal with the things he did." Scooting closer, he pulled off the blanket. "Teach me what to do," he said, his voice and eyes suddenly so compassionate. And he took her free hand in his.

Her eyebrows rose. "You want to help me nurse him?"

"If you'll let me. I wish for us to be intimate enough that we will trust each other with even things that might shame us," he said with such tenderness. "It is your decision, but I wish for you to let me help you carry these burdens from him."

Tears welled at his beautiful declaration of love. "I want you to if it..."

"If it what?" He scooted closer and slipped his good arm around her shoulders.

"If it doesn't make you look at me differently." Her voice cracked.

"Never." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "You have seen me in illness and ways that absolutely mortify me, but I know you do not look at me differently. You deserve to feel that same security." He rested his temple against hers. "I find you most beautiful when I see you face your hardships with grace and strength. When you let me within those walls, I understand the courage and trust it takes. And I love you all the more for it." Another kiss to her temple. "Feed the babe." Then he moved to get up.

She caught his hand. Charles fussed in need of his meal.

He looked at her and sat down again, questions in his eyes.

"The scars try to pull my breast out of his mouth, so I have to hold it for him..." Her voice quivered with shame. "And it won't let him have milk, so I have to massage it out for him." She didn't meet his eyes.

"Does it pain you?"

"He gets frustrated," she continued, ignoring his question.

"Where does it hurt?" he urged.

She bared it and pointed. "Under the scars," she said softly. "Like the milk can't ever get out."

He reached around from behind with his hands. "Don't be embarrassed. Let me see if there's something we can do. Help Charles keep hold." The way he did it got enough milk flowing for Charles to be content, and he massaged so there was only discomfort, not pain, under the scars. He didn't seem to mind helping the entire time Charles nursed. "As he gets older and is able to hold your breast in place himself, you'll be able to nurse without aid, if you wish. In the mean time, you're in need of three hands. Fetch me when he needs to nurse." He said it so matter of fact.

A shy glance up at him was all she could muster. "Thank you."

"I regret not being coherent sooner to help you. One would think it should arouse a man to help his wife breastfeed, but it makes me ache somewhere else." Then he got up, almost like he'd embarrassed himself.

How odd. She frowned. "Where?"

He looked down and met her eyes. "My heart," he said very quietly, very intimately.

That completely stole her heart.

The man cleared his throat. "Up. There is a bed to sit on rather than the floor, woman," he grunted to cover up his sentimental emotions. He took her hand and pulled her and the babe up. "Give me him to burp while you eat. The whole plate," he grunted.

She handed over the babe and buttoned up. "I love you." A smile tugged.

The big cuddle bear scowled. "It certainly behooves you because as soon as we land in America, I'm dragging you to a church," he snapped and gave soft pats on Charles's back. "I don't care if you change your mind. You had ample time to protest a marriage and didn't, so now you're stuck with me forever," he barked.

"Yes, Mark." She grinned and folded her hands behind her back. "Forever and ever?"

"Yes! Go eat, woman!"

"I love it when you bark at me. When we are better, I should like you to bark at me and then have to make love to me to teach me a lesson."

His jaw fell open and his pantaloons began to strain. When she giggled, he composed himself with a straight face. "I shall have to make love to you in the woods." Then he leaned in, his gaze a caress in itself that set butterflies loose in her belly. He spoke in a voice so husky and low that his tone vibrated in her chest in a most delicious way, "So no one can hear your repeated cries of ecstasy as I claim you as my wife."

Oh dear heaven, her knees grew weak.

"Your sutures are due to come out. You cannot consummate for another month yet, but your body is healed enough should you desire me to make it a very pleasant exam," he purred.

A breathless gasp escaped at the scandal and the sudden rush of heat. His proposal was so forbidden. So erotic. "You are a wicked man," she scolded.

That rare, rakish smile made her blood even hotter. "My lady love, if only your eyes didn't tell me how much you truly want it," he purred, his voice so low and husky it was like a spell. He sat and swayed Charles.

If he hadn't been right there to see it and boost his ego, she would've swooned.

* * *

"What do you mean you have to cut and stitch again?!" she shrieked in a panic the next day.

He held her hands. "I didn't want you scared this whole time, so I didn't tell you. You have internal sutures because of what I had to cut. If left in, those will cause problems, and you certainly can't birth. This would be a superficial incision only down to the muscle sutures. I will see if I can do it in a few small incisions. It won't be as painful as before, sweetheart. That was reconstruction, this is just a skin-deep incision." He reached for her.

"No!" Stepping back, she shoved his hand away. "You made me think it's over! You lied!" Tears welled. It'd been hard not to cry the first several days from the pain, and now he talked about doing it again. "You didn't tell me it'd hurt to sit and stand and walk and laugh! It still hurts to use the washroom!" Panic made fear grow worse. "It's going to hurt like him when we consummate, isn't it?!" Tears fell.

"No! It won't hurt like that - " He took a step forward.

She took a step back, the tears coming faster more for the betrayal than anything. "You lied!"

"I didn't and won't lie. I didn't tell you certain things because I didn't want you terrified - "

The tears streamed down. "I learned my whole life to not trust men! To fear a man's touch! I trust you to do medical things to me that I don't understand because I thought you'd be truthful!"

"And what good would it have done to tell you how painful you'd be, or you'd need a follow-up surgery?! You'd have been terrified these two weeks!"

"I would still trust you!"

He froze, his face suddenly pale.

"I trusted you to always be honest," she wept. "Even if I'm scared, I'd go through anything with you because I thought you'd guide me truthfully. You know I'm scared of anything female related after him. I don't understand why you think a surprise surgery is alright." Her face crumpled. "I would've been scared, but when you explain things, it makes them less frightening. I don't understand why you tricked me."

"Oh god, Tanya, it was not meant as a trick," he pleaded and grabbed her hands. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. "Listen to me. Listen. I thought I was protecting you. You looked so terrified when I explained that you needed surgery to fit the babe that I thought I was doing the right thing to not tell you until the end that I have to go in after the internal sutures, or exactly what pain you'd have. That's all. It breaks my heart to see you have to bear everything he did. I thought this was a Cross I could bear for you for a little while. I vow I won't keep secrets again. Please, don't think you can't trust me. I love you and would die for you. I understand how hard it is for you to trust and not be frightened of men. I never meant to betray that."

She sniffled.

His eyes grew red from unshed tears. "I never thought I'd give you reason to look at me with betrayal and distrust in your eyes. I'm sorry."

Her face crumpled. "When he forced himself, I didn't even know what sex was. I didn't understand what he was doing, only that it hurt and he wasn't supposed to."

His lip quivered and a tear spilled over, as if it hurt to hear this.

"I didn't even know what he did was called so I could explain it to anyone. I didn't have a name for it until Dr. Englewood told me it was rape. When my belly swelled, I thought I was dying. I thought you had to be married to get pregnant. All of these things happened to me, and I didn't understand any of them." She choked on a sob. "Do not do something to my body and not tell me what's going on."

He crushed her in his arms and held fast. "I'm sorry," he sniffled. "Being a minor procedure that has to be done, I didn't understand that it was wrong to not tell you right away. I didn't mean to betray your trust or frighten or trick you. You're right - it's your body and you have a right to know everything."

She curled up her arms against his chest and let the hurt come. "You're my best friend. When I don't know who to believe or trust, I look to you. You're the one who made me feel safe in every way." Another sob choked. "You're the only one I wasn't afraid to blindly trust in any situation."

His chest shuddered with a silent sob and he cradled her head against his heart. "You can trust me. I will stumble and fall, Tanya, but I will learn from my mistakes. I want to be the man you can trust, your shelter from anything." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

* * *

The cold, brisk air felt good on an aching heart.

"If I may speak frankly, my lady?" Brigands asked from her right as an escort on the walk.

She cracked a smile. "I've told you to not call me that. You certainly won't get away with it in Colorado. But, yes, you know you should speak your mind with me."

"If you and the mast-, um, Mr. Johnson have had a falling out, I'm sure he'd appropriately grovel rather than have you wear through the deck walking. I am honored to be your escort, but I do not wish to see you so sad."

Patting his arm that led her, she gave a small smile. "We did talk. I think he is wearing the cabin floor out himself waiting for me to return. Sometimes I need space to digest feelings before I can move forward."

He kept his eyes forward and nodded. "A good wife knows when she needs to put herself first to make a stronger marriage. Sometimes you are wise beyond your years, my lady. It took my wife and I some time to realize that space can be a blessing as much as a curse."

Passing the cabin again didn't lead to any sounds of Charles fussing, so she took another lap.

When she returned, Mark sat on the edge of the bed, his posture tense as he held the sleeping babe. He pushed himself to his feet, anxiety burning strong in his eyes.

The hurt was still there, but only as an ache now. She folded her hands and held his gaze. "Before you take the stitches out, you will tell me everything you have to do and what happens after the new stitches come out. And if you think here's reason for no more babies or anything else."

He nodded. "I wouldn't keep no babies a secret." The man slowly held out a hand.

She took it and sat down on the bed beside him as he explained everything.

* * *

She laid in bed the next day in pain.

Mark walked in with a poultice. "Here, sweetheart. Your grandmother says this herb will help with the bruising." He pulled down the blanket and applied it. "The tissue is still a bit traumatized from the birth, and adding in this surgery must've tipped it over the edge. I'm sorry, love. I've only seen this kind of swelling and bruising happen in one of the twenty-nine other women whom I have ever had to do this surgery on." Then he pulled up the sheet. "Do you want water, food, a backrub...?"

She shook her head and readjusted Charles laying in bed and nursing.

"I promise that _if_ you need surgery again to fit a babe, it won't be this bad. I had to make extensive incisions to fit him because of the assault. There are stretches your body will be able to handle for the next birth to hopefully avoid surgery."

"If you try to put a babe in me, I'll cut off the family jewels," she whimpered.

"I'll make you a deal: one more babe and if you need surgery, I'll let you sterilize me. Then you can enjoy seeing me writh in pain beside you." A slight note of laughter filled his voice.

She held in a laugh. "Okay. Let me have you to grip for this round, though."

He shot off the bed. "I love you - I'll let you squeeze my broken arm or punch my bruised ribs or do anything else, but you can't grip those. We need those yet."

She frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Shut up and give me your hand."

"Oh." He blushed. Then he laid down and spooned as she laid on her side to accommodate Charles. His hand slipped into hers and held tight.

"Tanya? When you're feeling better, I'd like to talk to you about submitting a paper to a medical journal about your work with the surgeon on my spine."

She readjusted Charles. "What do you mean?" she asked. Lovely, Charles still seemed hungry and would need to nurse from the scarred side.

"The surgeon was very impressed with your theory, as was I. Your fast thinking and treatments likely saved me from being permanently paralyzed. It's something that is valuable to share with the medical community, and he wanted to include your name in it. He said that as your betrothed...?"

"I had to come up with some excuse for you being in my cabin," she explained.

"Ah. As your betrothed, he asked my permission. I told him that I would ask you." He stroked her hair back to expose the side of her neck. "Should you ever have an interest in attending medical school, tell me. I think you'd make an excellent surgeon."

"I want to work with you."

"You always can work with me. I may not even be able to find work as a surgeon."

"You're the best female-practice surgeon - "

"Dr. Johnson has no reputation," he cut in.

The words died on her lips. "But you will build your reputation fast."

"Not as a gynecologist/obstetrician. There would be too much suspicion of you remarrying someone so identical to your first husband. This isn't the topic," he grunted. "We will talk about you publishing a paper when you feel better - "

"Women cannot be published in medical journals."

"Tanya, America is the Land of Opportunity. If women can become surgeons, I'm sure they can be published in medical journals."

"Mark?" She rolled onto her back and tried to recline upright to burp Charles, but Mark sat up and did it. "Thank you." Buttoning up her nightgown, she continued, "When we get to America, promise that before we get on a coach or whatever is the transportation to Colorado, we get married."

He turned his head and looked down at her with a solemn expression. "I promise to marry you as soon as we can procure a special license, but I can't make promises of how soon. I don't know how things work in America." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Charles interrupted with a cry.

"Are you wet, my boy?" Mark got up and changed the diaper. "You are a good eater for Mama. I should say you've gained a little bit of weight. By the time we get to America, you might weigh almost as much as a newborn should. Now we have to figure out how to get Mama to put on weight." He washed his hands in the basin of cold water and then rested the nearly naked babe on his shoulder. Charles looked so tiny in his arms. He stopped in his tracks and leaned his ear closer to Charles. Then he felt the little forehead and dug out the stethoscope.

"What's wrong?" She pushed herself up a bit more as Mark laid him on the bed.

"Do you feel unwell in any way?" His tone was all business - that surgeon tone he took on when something wasn't good.

"No, why?" Her heart beat faster.

He listened for several seconds and then continued an exam. "He has respiratory congestion." Turning Charles over and tilting him downward, he patted the little back. A wet cough.

Her eyes flew to his. He handed over the babe and shot out of the room without his shirt.

Mark returned minutes later and leaned against the closed door, his eyes slightly scared. "Influenza is on the ship."

"What?! No, he just has fluid yet from the birth," she panicked. "He hasn't been around anyone who is ill." No, it couldn't be. Influenza was deadly enough for adults. A sickly new babe wouldn't survive it.

"Your grandparents have it." He headed straight for the whiskey bottle. "Have you ever had it?" he demanded and grabbed a syringe and tube out of the bag. Then he headed for the door.

"I think so. Years ago."

He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. "Not within the past years?" When she shook her head, he strode over and set everything on the bed. Then he doused his arm with whiskey. "You're going to learn how to do a transfusion. I do not catch influenza anymore nearly to the degree that others do. There must be something in my blood after being exposed so many years to infected patients. If we give you my blood, it might help protect you and leak into your breast milk. It might help Charles fight it off."

It made as best sense as any and was better than doing nothing. After connecting the very short tube to him, she gave her arm for him to connect.

"You are to drink extra water both to flush any infection from you and keep up with feeding him extra to flush his body. If we can keep him from dehydrating and a fever down, he'll pull through it. When you transfuse, it often clots in the tube. Use as short of a tube as possible and squeeze along the tube to keep blood flowing. Eventually it will clot, though. Keep the donor's arm higher and his fist pumping to delay the clotting."

"I didn't read any of this in your books."

"Because I made it up," he said distractedly. "It's the best method I've found so far." When he finished with the transfusion, he got up with the tube still in his arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Your grandmother has never been exposed. Your grandfather had influenza once when he went to England looking for you as a child, but not since."

"Mark." She caught his arm, her stomach churning with worry. "Do not give away so much that you harm yourself."

He cracked a smile, as if touched that she worried. Then he slipped out.

His madness seemed to work. The death toll on the ship rose. Mark gave small amounts of his blood to the ill over the next few days. The ones who accepted the transfusion still got ill, but few of those died.

Mark walked in one evening, his eyes glazed over and a frighteningly vacant expression on his face as he washed his hands and then checked her mild fever and Charles's cough. His shirt was soaked in perspiration.

"Mark, are you feverish?" He couldn't get sick. He was the only one who knew what to do.

"I think I killed a man," he whispered.

"What?" She blinked.

"When I gave him my blood, he started shaking and had chills and...and he stopped breathing eventually. I stopped the transfusion and even started bloodletting if my blood had done something to him. I did chest compressions for twenty minutes. I've given blood to many patients over the years. It happened in Africa to two patients. I stopped giving transfusions - I thought perhaps the skin tone difference made our blood incompatible. One theory is men's blood can only be transfused to men and women to women, but I've often given my blood to women in childbirth. I don't understand what happened." He ran his hands through his hair in distress. Tears welled in his eyes. "I widowed a woman with three little ones who all witnessed him die," he croaked.

She grabbed his hands and held his eyes. "You do not know for certain that it was something you did. You are not God. To the best of your knowledge, you did everything right. For all you know, the influenza might've killed him tomorrow. You are a good physician, but deaths are inevitable. What makes you good is you learn. You learned from him that bloodletting doesn't help. Once you get a clinic, figure out a way to study blood samples. Use one of those special magnifier machines..."

"Microscope?"

"Yes. See if the blood samples look different from each other. You are a good physician because you push the boundaries. They say you are mad and yet you've saved how many women and babies with your mad ways? I'm sure many physicians would've called you insane for these transfusions rather than bloodletting, but you have prevented multiple deaths. You will stumble and fall, but it is only the stumbles that make you better."

He processed those words for a minute. "There is still no way to right leaving her children fatherless and without income. We have little funds left ourselves. Based on gossip, I'm not sure it will even get us to Colorado." He picked up a rag and wiped cool water over her damp brow.

She cracked a smile. "Husband, you have much to learn. Even when you have nothing, there's always something to be found that a pawn shop would pay to have. Go to my trunk in the bottom."

He dug through and frowned. "What am I looking for?"

"The dress. I have no need for such a thing in Colorado."

Lifting out her evening gown, he looked at her with such sadness. "The dress you wore for our first dinner together."

It had been too precious to leave behind. How bittersweet that he remembered too. "Tell her a pawn shop should give her no less than twenty pounds. If she rips out the petticoat built in, she can take that to a different shop for an additional five pounds. The ribbons can be cut without notice and pawned as hair ribbons for an additional pound."

"I'm sorry, Tanya."

"I have you, Mark. I don't need a silly dress to remember our first dinner. Go take it to her."

He returned, his face still grief-stricken. "She said God bless you for giving her your dress."

The woman had probably cursed him to Hell for not saving her husband. Setting Charles on the bed next to her, she held out her arms. Mark sat in the edge of the bed and rested his head on her chest. She stroked his hair and held tight, the only thing to do as he had to figure out how to carry the Cross of another life lost in his hands. "I love you, Mark."

* * *

The ship docked at a quarter to noon. The sun shined bright in the February morning. Nearly a third of the passengers had been buried at sea. She huddled deeper in her cloak, slight chills from influenza still lingering. Mark swore it was from weakness of being underweight yet, as Grandmama and Grandfather had recovered for the most part two days ago. Charles had a slight cough left and was tied to her front under the cloak to keep warm. Mark put his arm over her shoulders, the splint no longer needed for the broken bone. A soft curse left his lips as he looked out over the railing at the first glimpse of America.

Coal smog filled the air and buildings crammed together. The dock overflowed with passengers from other ships. Streets in the distance were just as crowded. Ruckus and coughing filled the air. The Land of Opportunity looked like nothing but a dirty, overcrowded land of illness. A pang of homesickness for England hit.

"Stay here." Mark pushed through the crowd unboarding the ship and stepped down on the dock below. He looked around, as if scanning for something. Then he returned, stress creating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "There's tuberculosis and typhoid and who knows what else down there." His eyes met Grandfather's. "Tanya and Charles are already unwell. You and Lily have likely not been exposed to these 'white man' diseases." He ran a hand through his hair and looked around on the dock. "I have no idea how we walk through without catching something."

Brigands looked around. "Are handkerchiefs over our faces good enough, sir?"

Mark shook his head.

"We don't walk." All eyes turned to her. She pointed to a small boat hanging over the edge of the ship. "We take that boat and sneak into the city. Mark has no identity papers, so they wouldn't let him into America anyways."

He pressed a kiss to her lips. "I married a genius."

The men helped the women into the boat and began to lower it. "Get in before it gets much lower," Mark told Grandfather and Brigands.

"You're not coming?" She grabbed the edge of the boat in a panic.

"Someone has to lower the boat. Go along the south shore and find a pub closest to the shore. I'll find you."

"No! You can't go through the disease - "

"Stop!" One of the crew members shouted. "Arrest them!"

Mark's hands flew feeding the pulley to lower the boat. It dropped the last couple feet into the water as two men reached for Mark...just as he jumped into the icy ocean.

"Mark!" The scream echoed over the water. That jump would break bones. The February ocean water would freeze him. He didn't surface. "Mark!" She tore off the cape and started to unwrap the babe to go in after him.

"No! Your dress will pull you under," Grandfather said and grabbed her arm. "Wait a minute. He would've gone far down at that height."

One second. Two. Three. Her heart pounded harder with each second. Small waves crashed against the side of the boat.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: For the part where Tanya is looking at everyone in the carriage, I listened to Eklipse's Fire to the Rain. The solemness and urgency seemed to match Tanya's heavy thoughts.**

* * *

"Bubbles! It has to be him!" Grandmama shouted and pointed to the right.

More bubbles surfaced. And then dozens and nothing more.

"He's out of air!" She pulled Charles out of the sling and shoved him at Grandmama.

"There he is!" Grandfather grabbed her arm.

Mark swam closer. "Go to shore!"

"No, wait for Mark! He'll freeze or tire." Kneeling down, she reached out for him.

Grandfather stuck out an oar taht reached farther, and Mark grabbed on. His gasps for air from the cold could be heard from the boat even. Grandfather pulled him to the edge where he grabbed on. "Hold on, Mark. Tanya, bundle that babe again. Mark can't come in because he'll tip us, so we have to get on shore before he freezes."

She tied Charles to her under the cape, and Brigands took the other oar. The men used every ounce of strength to cut the boat through the water. It didn't take long for Mark's lips and fingers to turn blue, and he started to have trouble holding on. She grabbed his arm and held on for dear life. "Go in here." It was rocky and not an ideal place to dock, but it would get Mark out of the water.

As soon as the boat reached the rocks, Grandfather jumped out and held on as she and Grandmama and Teresa got out. She hurried to the other side and grabbed Mark as he struggled to make his body work. Grandfather came over and grabbed his other arm, pulling him onto a boulder.

"Are you hurt at all?" Grandfather tore Mark's shirt to get it off.

But he shook too hard to answer.

"Give him my cloak." He jerked Mark's pants off and then wrapped him in the fur cloak. "Up we go. We'll find an inn. He won't be in any condition to go anywhere today."

Brigands and Grandfather struggled to get Mark up the slippery rocks. Once in the snowbank, she got under his arm. His shaking vibrated their bodies.

"C, c, c," Mark gasped trying to speak.

"Cold?" She held him tighter.

"Co, co...in," he gasped, his teeth beginning to chatter harder.

"I know, your coin purse fell out of your pockets in the ocean - I felt your pockets empty. Lily still has the money that you gave us," Grandfather said.

"I have our coins too. If we pool funds and economize, we will make it to Colorado," Brigands said with certainty.

She ran ahead to an inn across the street. "We need two rooms for the night, please. How much?"

The innkeeper looked her up and down. "You won't get a room around here for miles. The ships from England all arrived at once. Be my guest to try the next inn eight blocks away, but I have people coming from there saying they're full."

"One room. We'll take anything."

Everyone else arrived, the men trying to hold Mark upright.

"No room at the inn, miss!" he barked in his strange accent.

Mark needed somewhere warm now, not in a few miles. "My husband fell in the water and needs a room," she demanded.

"There's no room!" He shouted in her face.

"Ta, Tan...ya," Mark gasped.

She didn't flinch, and her eyes narrowed on the man. "Your kitchen or lobby then. I will pay the price of two rooms." She leaned forward over the counter, mindful of Charles under the cape. "An easy profit with no room to clean afterwards. We leave at dawn."

The man glared. "I'll not have Injuns in my inn," he snarled.

Brigands stepped forward, but she slapped down a large bag of coins on the desk. "Last chance." The man didn't move, so she snatched the purse and turned to go, glancing at Mark in concern. The flesh around his eyes was blue now, his eyes beginning to glaze over from the hypothermia.

She hurried ahead to avoid dragging Mark into the cold wind repeatedly. Places suddenly filled when they saw her or Grandfather or Grandmama once agreeing to give Brigands lodging, or they were indeed full.

Mark stumbled fifteen minutes later on the street. Grandfather slipped a hand inside the cloak. "His temperature is falling too much - heart is getting too cold."

She stopped at the next door, losing hope, and looked up. A brothrel. Oh dear god. But if today had taught anything, it was to not judge. Sometimes prayers could be answered in unexpected ways.

"Tanya!" Grandfather snapped as she slipped inside.

Women barely clad in clothes draped themselves over men sitting on velvety red furniture in a sitting room.

"Lookie here! Would you like to join us, love?" a man called.

A blonde woman wearing far too much makeup with bosom far too large for her corset came over. "Are you lost?"

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She glanced around the room. "We just came from England. My husband fell off the dock into the ocean. He's turning blue from cold but no one will give us a room."

"I wonder why," another snorted. "She looks like an Injun."

Noise came from behind. Brigands and Grandfather practically carried Mark. "Tanya, come," Grandfather demanded.

"My husband is English. At least let him and his friend stay with the babe so they can be warm." She pulled back the cape to reveal Charles sleeping on her chest.

The woman smiled at Charles. Another woman got up and walked over to Mark, pulled open the cloak and revealed his nakedness.

She shot over and pulled it shut, stepping between them. "He is not to be touched, though."

Mark didn't seem aware of much anything.

"A lovely Englishman like him, and I wouldn't charge. We'll keep him warm tonight," the woman smiled.

The other one stepped forward. "No, Maggie." Then she turned to them. "I'm Charlotte. I own the brothrel. We know all too well what it's like to have backs turned on us. Come. He can have my room, and the rest of you can sleep on the floor. Food will be a cost, though."

"I have coin. My grandmother and another woman are outside..."

"Tell them to get in."

"This isn't an inn for wailing babies!" a man protested.

Charlotte threw him a look. "Your night is discounted already. You are free to return tomorrow night instead." That shut the man up. "Come." She led the way upstairs.

A very fine, large plush bed sat in the middle of the room. The large room would comfortably hold everyone. A mirror hung on the ceiling and ropes dangled from the bedposts.

Charlotte must've notice her shock because the woman whispered, "We have men with singular tastes."

Oh dear heaven.

"The sheets are fresh. The best way to warm a frozen man is to get in bed naked with him."

Her cheeks burned, but Charlotte acted as if they discussed the weather.

"I will put on some hot soup to warm his insides too. Those who aren't staying in here with you...?"

"Oh, no, no. I'll warm him myself," she said quickly.

"Alright. Everyone else can come to the kitchen for soup."

She touched Charlotte's sleeve. "Thank you so much."

Charlotte simply smiled. Once Grandfather and Brigands laid Mark on the bed, she handed over Charles and everyone went downstairs.

Spreading out the cape to lay on top of it, she took hers off and stripped before using her own cape as a blanket. Goosebumps took hold the instant she draped over Mark's freezing flesh. "Oh god, Mark," she gasped, his skin as cold as ice. Gritting her teeth against the painful coldness, she draped her leg across his and scooted closer. His shivers shook the bed. She rubbed his arms and back and thighs.

Once he warmed up enough to get up, she tugged him to the fireplace. Then she curled up from behind and wrapped her arms around him, the cloaks doing well to serve as insulating blankets.

A knock came at the door. Charlotte peeked in. "There are some clothes in the closet that might fit him." Then she closed the door.

It took awhile, but his shivers gradually subsided. Digging through the closet, she pulled out black pantaloons and a wool shirt to keep him warm.

When she went downstairs a bit later to get him soup, she found Charlotte in the kitchen. "Thank you so much. In the morning I'll buy him some clothes of his own - "

"I have no use for them anymore. They were my late husband's." She shrugged.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be - "

Female purrs and coos and whistles filled the other room.

Exchanging a glance with Charlotte, she followed the woman out.

Three women hung on Mark, stroking his face and biceps and shoulders before he'd even made it all the way into the room from the stairs. "Hey there, sexy. You can come upstairs with me. I'll warm you up," one purred.

"Take off your shirt, love."

"Your English accent is so arousing. You can toss up my skirts, Englishman." The woman stroked his ear.

More purrs and strokes made Mark's cheeks burn red.

She covered her mouth to smother a laugh. It was good for him to realize that he was a catch. Another couple seconds, and she'd rescue him.

He pulled their hands off. "Ladies, ladies, sit down."

"All of us?" one of the women purred.

"Yes."

They hurried to the settee. "Which one on top?"

He sat on the marble coffee table facing them and folded his hands together. "Ladies, you are all beautiful women."

They beamed and pushed out their bosoms a bit more.

Mark diverted his eyes. He'd likely seen many women, being a female physician, but his shyness as a gentleman was endearing. He cleared his throat and met the working girls' hungry gazes. "You're sweet, intelligent..."

Confusion filled their eyes.

"And compassionate to take in complete strangers. You're more than pieces of meat. Who made your dresses?"

One of the women raised a hand.

"They're as ornate as anything I've seen in Paris - an excellent seamstress. Perfect detail to have the curtains accent the dresses. And you must be a writer - ink stains on your hand," he said to another. "You write poetry? Novels?"

The woman blushed. "I want to write a novel, but women don't - "

"Jane Austen did. Years ago. She broke the ice. There are many female authors, but often written under male pseudo names. And who decorated this lovely room?"

"Maggie." One of them pointed to a girl sitting in a man's lap on the other side of the room.

"The colors are so rich and the furniture placement makes excellent use of space. And what's your secret passion?" he asked the third woman on the settee.

She flushed and shook her head. "I do all the cooking."

"A cook! See?! Talented, talented women here, and I would wager that not a single man who comes in here knows it." He shook his head in disgust and turned to look at Charlotte. "This is an incredibly profitable business - an excellent businesswoman you are. If you ladies put your heads together, what an excellent pub or restaurant you could have here."

"No one would come to a place of ours," one of the women sighed. "We can't do it. It won't work."

Mark leaned an elbow on a knee and set his other hand on a hip. Lowering his voice and raising his brow, he said, "No, it won't work."

The women looked at him in surprise.

"Because if you think you can't, you won't. You set yourselves up for failure."

"But we are failures," the shy cook whispered in shame.

He stood and paced before them. "You ladies have every woman's dream of having independence, making your own choices, having your own financial control!" He threw out his arms. "That's something to be proud of! You've made yourselves independent in a man's world! You do not need to sell yourselves to men! You deserve respect and honor! Immigrants come everyday - if you worry no one will come because it used to be a brothrel, no one will remember in a few months! It's America! The Land of Equality! The Land of Opportunity! You are strong women!"

By the time she got him upstairs to rest some more, the women were discussing new business ideas. She laughed. "Leave it to you to tell brothrel women that they have more potential." She pecked a kiss on his cheek.

"Most women in brothrels never had someone to tell them they can amount to more," he shrugged.

"Let me guess - you were the surgeon for women at brothrels."

He nodded. "I delivered a few babes to them and treated illnesses at the brothrel in town back home."

She frowned. "What brothrel?"

"Exactly." He grinned.

SHe burst out laughing.

* * *

"The post carriage arrives in thirty minutes." Charlotte poked her head in the bedchamber the next morning.

"I'm almost ready." She twisted her hair up in front of the mirror. Grandfather and Brigands took the suitcases downstairs, and Grandmama and Teresa went to say their goodbyes.

Mark stepped closer with the babe, leaning back against the vanity to look her directly in the eyes. "You aren't well and can't go bouncing around all day in a cold carriage, much less the post that will be crowded and uncomfortable."

"I'm fine." She grabbed a hairpin.

He grabbed it from her hand. "No, you're not," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You're dropping weight, still recovering from influenza and childbirth - which, might I add, those sutures will be damn painful to sit on in an unpadded carriage all day - and you aren't sleeping well. We aren't going anywhere."

Snatching the hairpin back, she gave him a look and turned to the mirror. "So you propose we set up in a brothrel for another day? In case it has missed your attention, _non-husband_ , we do not exactly have money or clothes growing on trees. Brigands and Grandfather have three suitcases, and we have nothing but the clothes on our backs. We cannot delay another day or two, and this city isn't exactly the best place to find work when they apparently know what Injuns look like," she spat.

He slammed a hand down on the vanity, rattling the delicate perfume bottles on it. "Do _not_ call yourself that," he hissed. "And you are not working. _I_ will obtain employment to support this family."

She spun on him. "Doing what? You can't make funds fast as a surgeon without supplies. Men come by work fast and without skill in factories where the wages are low and injury rates are high! I can make as much as a simple maid or serving wench - "

"Yes, by all means, let's send the woman who was assaulted into a pub of drunk sailors!" He threw up his hand. Then he pointed a finger in accusation. "You drive me batshit sometimes!"

Her jaw fell open. "And you are so damn stubborn, I could scream! We do not need to stay." She glared, spun on her heel and marched out the door.

The carriage was crowded, causing a need for her to sit in Mark's lap and Grandmama to sit in Grandfather's. Teresa and Brigands managed to fit in the back corner.

"Can you even tolerate this?" Mark growled in her ear. He sat her across his lap so the sutures didn't press against his thighs.

She cuddled Charles tight from the cold air in his bundle of blankets. The stitches throbbed already from gravity. Shifting to lean her shoulder against him and rest her head on his shoulder eased the pressure. She nodded. "You?"

"Yes, but you should not be doing this," he sighed and wrapped his arms around. "We stop at noon, if we even go that far. I wish you would listen to me," he sighed under his breath.

Funds would only last so long, and work wasn't as easy to come by without a reference - he didn't seem to understand that. Pushing on no matter what was the only way they wouldn't starve. She glanced at Teresa and Brigands in the back corner of the coach. Stress clouded their solemn faces, and they just held hands. Down a couple spots, Grandmama gave Grandfather a worried look and then rested her head on his shoulder. Grandfather heaved a sigh of worry and stared ahead. Glancing up at Mark, he chewed his bottom lip and slipped a hand into his pocket, as if checking for a coin to have magically appeared. Charles grunted and turned his head for food. Sliding him under the cape, she opened her dress and nursed him. Illness seemed to have drained some of the milk away, or maybe Charles was eating more and her tired body couldn't keep up. He had to nurse from both sides to fill up.

America wasn't the great Land of Opportunity that Mark seemed to view it as from his high-born status. It was a cold, harsh land that weeded out the weak and destitute without a second thought. The determined would linger for awhile before succumbing to illness, starvation and death. She would be the first to fall, and soon after, Charles. Mark would succumb to starvation from not eating out of grief. Grandmama and Grandfather would suffer exposure to illnesses not encountered before. Brigands and Teresa might make it.

She cuddled Charles closer and held her breath as a cough threatened. Mark didn't know about her cough that had started a couple days ago. A similar cough had come on as a child, and the surgeon had said it was a form of pneumonia. The medicine was expensive even back then - something that would eat through nearly half of the funds they had left. Without her, Charles would starve.

* * *

The time passed, and she huddled deeper in the cloak as chills took hold from a fever. Pulling up the hood, she bowed her head to keep out of Mark's view. He would be able to see the fever setting in and would demand to stop. Only there was nowhere to stop.

* * *

Mark asked the woman beside him for the time. Again. Half past two.

The sutures hurt, but not as much as her chest. She'd handed the babe to Grandmama an hour ago when he grew too heavy to hold. It took effort to remain awake. A cough finally broke free - a painful, wet cough that wouldn't end.

Passengers banged on the roof. "Stop! She's infected! Get her out!"

Mark didn't seem to hear them but pulled the hood off her. His eyes bulged and he felt her forehead. Then he looked to Grandfather and Brigands in a panic as the coach came to a stop. He scooped her in his arms and burst out of the coach before the driver even opened the door. It took too much strength to even wrap her arms around Mark's shoulders.

"Tuberculosis?" Grandfather came out with Grandmama and Charles, and Brigands and Teresa followed suit.

"That or pneumonia." Mark turned in a circle, his eyes scanning the tiny town they'd been abandoned in. A tavern, a crowded market, a blacksmith and a general store were all that was in view. "We need a physician with supplies and a bed for her." Panic inched into his voice. His heart pounded hard against her ear.

"Give me the coin purse. I'll find an inn and ask for the physician. Take the women inside the pub to keep warm in the meantime." Grandfather held out his hand.

Mark paled. "I don't have anything."

Grandfather's eyes widened in a panic. "I set it on the bed and said for you to take it - "

"And I said for you to take it so Tanya could comfortably ride in my lap...oh, shit," he breathed.

"You mean we don't have any money?" Grandmama's face grew white. "But Tanya needs medicine. Brigands?"

He dug in his pocket, worry etching his face. "I had to pay the coach upfront." He held out three coins. "We all go find employment today - "

Mark shook his head and held her closer. "She needs medicine today." His chest heaved in a complete panic.

Giving a weak push against his chest, she got him to set her to her feet. She gripped his arm tight to stop the world from spinning.

"What is it, Tanya?" He reached to hold her steady.

The market. It'd been done many times as a child, but not in years. Mark would be horrified, but it was the only option. If she died, it meant Charles would soon after. For the first time, the destitute childhood that had threatened her life would now save it. Slipping away from Mark, she pulled up her hood and slipped into the crowd.

"Tanya!" Mark called, but she wove and turned and disappeared so he wouldn't follow.

"What is she doing?! Tanya!" His heart slammed and he took a step forward.

Brigands set a hand to his chest. "Wait." He stretched his neck to look and then shook his head. "She's disappeared."

"I know that! We have to find her!" He jerked Brigand's hand away to run after her.

Brigands caught his arm. "Don't you see?" He lowered his voice. "She knows that if she dies, the babe starves. She's gone to pick pockets."

His eyebrows shot up. "Even if she did, she's in no condition..." His voice faded as a slim figure in a brown cloak moved with grace and precision through the crowd. If not looking for it, it would've been impossible to notice the delicate left hand slip into a man's pocket and a second later the other hand dart into a woman's purse. All without breaking pace. She looked like nothing more than a woman hurrying through the crowd.

She would faint at any moment in her condition, so he cut straight through into the crowd, just a few people behind her. She swept past a gentleman and his pocketwatch was suddenly gone. The man didn't even seem to notice. Just as fast, she was gone too.

He stopped and scanned the crowd, turning in a circle. His left pocket suddenly felt heavy. Looking down, he reached in. Dozens of coins filled the pocket. Turning in a circle, his heart beat faster. She was nowhere in sight. Seconds later, his right pocket felt heavy. More coins and a pocketwatch filled it. Still no sign of her. She needed to get in from the cold and be treated. A bare hand brushed his right one. Only one other person wouldn't be wearing gloves in this bitter cold. Whipping his head to the right, he searched the heads for a familiar brown cloak. Several yards away, a brown hood remained still among the sea of moving people. Her head tilted up and she met his eyes for a split moment. Then she spun on her heel and moved straight through the crowd in a purposeful manner and slow enough that she intended him to follow. Weaving through the masses, he kept sight of her.

The brown cape didn't head for where everyone waited but veered to the right between two merchant tents. With a frown, he picked up the pace and followed. Stepping into the alley, he stopped in his tracks and looked left and right. No one. From behind a carriage, a small figure stepped out in a brown cloak and swayed.

He shot forward and caught her just as she fainted.

* * *

The surgeon, about his own age, pulled off the stethoscope at the inn. "It's not pneumonia or tuberculosis."

"Then what is it?" he demanded. It took every ounce of self-control to not rip the tools from the surgeon and examine her himself.

"She is extremely underweight," he accused and gave a hard look. "Giving birth, breastfeeding and having influenza would not cause this kind of weight loss." He stepped toe to toe, hands fisted at his sides. "The infant is grossly small for age too."

Holding the surgeon's glare, he ground his teeth. "Are you insinuating that I'm starving them?"

"No, I'm saying it," the surgeon growled.

"Alright, gentlemen." Lilly stepped in between. "How about we stop fighting over her and see that she doesn't die instead, hm?"

The surgeon's dark look didn't waiver. "I'll treat her. Maybe when she's well, she'll come to her senses about not being a mistress to an arrogant, controlling ass," he seethed.

Anger surged and a fist nearly flew had Lilly not grabbed his arm to keep it from moving. "She's not my mistress but my betrothed!"

"Ha! At least she's had the sense to not go through with it!"

"Boys!" Lilly turned to the surgeon. "Mr. Johnson met her just weeks ago on the ship. She was widowed days before giving birth at sea. He wouldn't have had time to mistreat her. I should thank you to remember your place as surgeon, Dr. Thomas."

The goddamn ass used the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed and slip a hand under her head to raise her.

He threw himself at the man, but Tiger and Brigands caught him. Ripping the bastard's family jewels out through his throat sounded quite appealing at the moment. "Alright, alright!" Shoving himself away, he swept a hand over his shirt to straighten it.

"Miss Tanya," the man cooed and waved smelling salts under her nose. "Wake up."

She jerked in the bed and then startled when she saw the surgeon.

"It's alright. I'm Thomas, the surgeon. It appears you've relapsed from influenza..."

The goddamn bastard didn't need to touch her. Shoving through, he hauled the man up by the lapels and shoved him aside. Then he took the spot on the edge of the bed. "There's some medicine to help you feel better, sweetheart. The surgeon is a moron, but the medicine is good," he cooed.

An offended gasp filled the background and the surgeon stepped forward. "If I was less civilized, I'd call you out!"

Mark mopped her brow and didn't appear the least concerned. "If you were any less civilized, one would mistake you for an ape," he purred and offered her a smile.

Oh goodness, the two of them didn't seem to get along. "Water?" she rasped with a dry throat.

Mark lifted her head and reached for a glass. The surgeon beat him to it. Somehow, Mark very fluidly took the glass and kicked the surgeon's shin. "Beg your pardon," he muttered and ignored the man hopping around on one leg and cursing him. "Here you are, love."

She gave him a look and took a drink. It was a tad entertaining when Mark got jealous.

The surgeon finally stilled and pointed at Mark. "You put up with a two year old like that?!"

Mark turned at the waist and frowned at the physician. "What are you whining about now? I don't know why you're still here."

He blinked.

A coughing fit took hold, and Mark slipped his arms around and eased her up to breathe easier. She clutched his sleeves and gasped in air as he guided her head to rest on his shoulder. "Deep breaths, my lady love," he whispered and cocooned her in his warm embrace when the fever chills returned. But deep breaths led to more coughs. "Hold on tight," he said in a tone so calm. One arm tightened around her and his other hand began hard percussions on her back.

The room spun from the hard coughs, but they brought up what had prevented breathing. He held a rag to her mouth, not seeming to be disgusted in the least. When she sighed in relief to be able to breath again, he propped up pillows a bit higher and eased her down.

There was such a gentleness in him, and for just a moment, he met her eyes with a look that said he didn't see illness or a body too thin, but a woman he loved. He blurred behind tears as she smiled. Taking his hand for comfort, she closed her eyes to rest.

"I - " the surgeon's voice cut in quietly.

"I'll give her the medicine. She needs to rest right now," Marked answered, his voice patient. A cool rag brushed over her neck and forehead, offering blessed relief from the fever.

Footsteps left and the door closed a moment later.

"The medicine is an injection, sweetheart. I'm not in agreement with him that it's not turning into pneumonia. This might make you a bit nauseous," he explained, his tone so soft. "The needle is bigger than what I've ever used on you. I'll be quick, sweetheart. Your shoulder muscle isn't quite big enough. I'm going to do it in the top of your bottom because I need a large muscle."

Her eyes cracked open. "Why? How big is it?" It must be a thick needle like ones some of the poorer surgeons used that looked like the size of horse syringes.

He kept the syringe out of view. "It'll hurt for a moment. I'm going to put it in fast because it'll be more comfortable. I have to go a bit deep so the medicine doesn't leak back out the needle path."

Her heart beat faster and eyes widened. It was one of the old school needles.

"Count to ten, and I promise it'll be over." He nudged her onto her side.

Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder as he pulled up her chemise and adjusted the sheet to offer some modesty.

"You just be ready to count, sweetheart." The tip of his finger guided her chin to look away. "Don't tense up. Three deep breaths out."

She did and right at the end of the third, it felt like an arrow piercing. A gasp and whimper, and she crushed a fistful of sheets in her hand.

"Three. Four. Five..." he counted for her. The needle could be felt jabbing little pockets of medicine all around inside to keep the medicine from leaking out. "Six, seven..." The needle slowly withdrew. "Eight, Nine." A rag pressed against the site and he rubbed to either take away the sting or try to seal the medicine in. "All done, love." The bed shifted and warmth pressed near the wound with a kissing sound.

That earned a weak laugh. She brushed the tears from her eyes. "Did you just kiss my bottom?"

"I did, my brave girl."

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened at the size of the syringe he set aside. "Ow, I think it hurts more knowing what it looks like," she whimpered. The weak laugh melted into tears.

"Oh, love. You're not feeling well and overtired, and it's always harder to bear illness when not in your own bed." He laid down and gathered her to his chest, massaging her hurting muscle with the cool rag. "It's alright."

She sniffled and slid her hands up his shirt, needing the comfort of skin-to-skin contact. "We don't even have a bed of our own." Sobs burst out.

"One day at a time, Tanya. Home is wherever we are as a family. It's going to be alright. Getting you better will help tremendously. Then you teach me how to slum our way to Colorado. I want that great adventure you promised me on the ship," he teased.

A watery laugh came up. And then it dawned that her hand felt odd. Pulling it out from under his shirt, she looked at the naked wedding band finger. Her shoulders shook as deep, grief-stricken sobs took over. "My ring..." She choked on a sob. It must've fallen off when pick-pocketing someone.

"No, no, no. I have it. Right here." He frantically dug it out of his pocket and held it up. "See? It's not lost. Don't cry."

"Why do you have it?" she hicupped.

"I need it for something..."

"Why can't I have it?" She sounded like a baby falling apart over everything, but everything seemed like the end of the world right now.

"You can." He slid it back on.

"Don't sell my ring," she sniffled.

"No, I wouldn't sell it, sweetheart." He rubbed her back.

"Why did you take it?" She brushed at her eyes.

"You need to rest, sweetheart. Don't cry. Let's go to sleep." He pressed a kiss to her hair. The poor thing was so ill and tired that she kept having meltdowns. He turned off the lantern and held her tight as she fell asleep in his arms.

On the way to the inn, he'd spotted a little church across the street. She deserved a true marriage proposal, and being as poor as a church mouse, all he had to offer was her wedding ring to dual serve as the engagement ring. Apparently, that ring given as a half-hearted, empty promise months ago meant a lot to her - that had been a surprise that she noticed it missing.

In a few days, she should be well enough to propose to her and then take to the church to marry.


	34. Chapter 34

"Mark, are you alright? You've been very quiet since we left the inn a few days ago." She set her hand on his leg in the coach.

She was still too weak to travel safely, but the post coach only came once a week. Tanya had been too distressed at the thought of delaying another week, so there hadn't been time for a proposal or funds to obtain a marriage license. He glared at Dr. Thomas, who had a sudden desire to see Colorado and followed Tanya like a damn dog. Too bad the wretch didn't have fleas like a dog. Or worms. Or rabies - that would be good because then Tanya wouldn't protest if he shot the scoundrel.

"Does your back hurt?" she interrupted.

He grunted. That wet-behind-the-ears, poor excuse for a surgeon sat far too close to her other side. America was said to have a giant cliff, the Grand Canyon. It would be grand - grand if Thomas walked right over the edge. Maybe Colorado was near this canyon. He'd have to ask Tiger or Lily about it later.

"You must keep warm so the fever doesn't return," Thomas said and reached for the top button of her cloak left undone.

Without even thinking, he scooped her and Charles into his lap to face away from Thomas. She'd mentioned privately when he'd said to button up that it felt too much like hands around her neck during the assault. He glared at Thomas, the protective instincts in full drive, and snapped, "She will wear it as she pleases."

Thomas slouched back, crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his hat low to sleep.

She leaned in so the vanilla scent of her hair wafted as she whispered in his ear. "You have no need for jealousy. I love you, not him. He's simply an acquaintance." She sat back with a smile.

"But aspires for much more," he growled.

Her gloved finger ran down his whiskery cheek - gloves that Thomas had purchased for her. He was grateful that she wasn't cold, but it stung all the same that he didn't have the means to provide for her. "My bear, he won't steal my heart," she breathed and brushed a kiss over his lips.

He tucked her head under his chin and held her and Charles close. "You are mine, and I have a right to desire to gut him," he growled.

She giggled, that twinkling fairy sound drawing smiles from other passengers, including goddamn Thomas. "Are you going to marry me soon?"

That was like a punch to the gut. Heaving a sigh, he rested his cheek against her hair. "I would've wed you a month ago if I had the means. As soon as I can, I will."

The woman sat up and looked at him with the biggest eyes. "Let me sell my hair. It will grow back and earn more than enough for a license and a day's worth of meals for everyone."

Oh god, that hurt to hear her willing to part with her one attribute that she saw no flaw in. Swallowing hard, he shook his head. "I will find a way, my lady love." Then he leaned his forehead against hers and held her beautiful brown eyes. "Think of it as my quest to win your heart - I shall slay every dragon from here to Colorado that gets in my way. But it will take time."

"Why won't you take it from me?" Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and her eyes filled with concern.

"Because I do not wish to see you sacrifice more than you already have," he whispered. "Let me do this."

She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. "I just want to be married to you."

"I want it too. We will, sweetheart. We will."

At the stop for lunch, he got out and then took Charles for her. Before having a chance to offer her a hand out, Thomas jumped down and took her hands.

"May I be of assistance since he has the babe, madam?" Thomas offered a brilliant smile up to her.

She glanced at him and then Thomas, as if uncertain what to do. "Thank you, but I'm fine."

"Come, Mrs. Debonairo, all I offer is a hand down." He caught her gloved hand.

Anger reared the moment Tanya took a step back. Manhandling would only frighten her. He stepped closer and nudged Thomas aside. "Your assistance was denied," he snapped. "And a gentleman would not press himself upon a woman."

It must've been a fierce enough look because Thomas took a step back. "My apologies," he mumbled and headed inside.

When she stepped forward and held out her hand, he took it. "Tanya, you're shaking." He frowned.

She wouldn't meet his eyes but took Charles back. "He presses, and it makes me nervous."

He cracked a smile and bowed his head to try to catch her eyes. "He persists in offering an arm or hand, but I bark and snap and _that_ doesn't frighten you?"

She looked at him finally, worry knitting her brow. "When I say, 'no,' you listen."

He released a sad sigh and set his arm around her. "We'll keep him away from you. I do not think he would cause you harm, though."

"I'm being paranoid?" She looked so ashamed, so unsure of herself.

"I didn't say that," he snapped. "One should wonder how you don't run screaming from all men." God, his nerves were frayed enough as is without goddamn Thomas frightening her too. "You will stay near me, and should I happen to punch the bastard, i will not hear any scolding, understood?" he huffed.

"Yes, Mark." She smiled.

"You're my wife, and I won't have some pig frightening you," he ordered.

The woman smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder, seeming to find great comfort in his protection.

God, she had a way of making him feel like a strong man. That shattered the moment he took a step.

"Does your knee hurt? Your limp is worse?"

"The leather brace is stretching out," he growled. "Enough about my ailment, woman."

She stopped and cupped his cheek with a soft smile. "It's a very noble injury. I wish sometimes you'd be a little less ashamed of it."

"When it will be seen as a weakness for obtaining employment, there is nothing noble about it," he spat and jerked his head free.

The wench searched his eyes. "There are times in poverty, Mark, when all you have to live on for days is a prayer. We are not yet starving or shelterless, so we are blessed. You worry about what you do not yet know." Raising onto her toes, she wrapped a hand behind his neck and pulled him down. Soft lips brushed a dainty kiss on his cheek. His heart skipped a beat, just like every time that she gave a kiss no matter how modest. Then the damn woman slipped her delicate hand into his and tugged him toward the pub, with everyone else already inside.

A thud sounded from behind.

She turned at the same time as Mark. The coach driver laid on his side in the dirt, and his partner looked down from the driver's seat with a shocked expression.

Mark dropped her hand and raced over.

"I don't know what happened. He just fell," the younger driver said with wide eyes.

Mark awkwardly dropped himself to his good knee and felt the man's neck as she hurried over. His eyes flew to her. "His heart stopped. Get inside."

Setting Charles on the ground beside Mark, she dropped to her knees as Mark started pumping on the man's chest. It was a futile attempt, but Mark wouldn't be the fine physician he was if he didn't try the impossible.

After a few minutes, perspiration formed on his brow and he jerked off his cape and continued. With his back still healing, he would hurt himself with that kind of strain.

"Here." She pressed Mark aside and threw her weight onto her hands to press down on the man's chest.

Mark felt for a pulse and then leaned down to listen. "Stop." So she did, but he shook his head and began examining the man as she resumed pumping.

It grew harder and harder to make the large man's chest press down. "Mark, I can't," she panted.

"I can't find anything wrong." A slight note of panic leaked into his voice.

Oh god, strength was draining too fast to keep this up, and Mark didn't need guilt of a death on his conscience on top of everything else. Clasping her hands together, she made a fist and slammed it down on the man's chest in a desperate attempt.

Mark startled and looked at her with wide eyes. Then he felt the man's neck. His eyebrows rose as if shocked, and his gaze turned to her. "He has a pulse."

She blinked. "What?"

"He has a pulse!" he practically laughed.

People began to flow out of the pub at the commotion. Thomas and Grandfather came out and knelt, and Mark filled them in as they worked on the still unconscious man. She scooped up Charles and fell to the back of the crowd.

"Are you alright?" Grandmama's hand touched her damp brow.

"Yes, I was helping Mark. I'm fine."

The man woke up minutes later and a bunch of men carried him down the street to the surgeon's house.

Grandfather returned with the men and clapped her on the back. His grin threatened to split his face. "Mark tells me that you saved the man's life."

She shook her head. "Luck. Mark was the one to say to push on his chest." Thomas came over and said something, but her eyes locked on the loan man limping down the road with a smile. "Grandmama, take Charles." She handed over the babe without breaking eye contact with Mark. Snatching his cloak off the ground, she hurried toward him.

His breath puffed out in a cloud through the cold winter air and his ears and nose were red, but he didn't seem to notice. He held out his arms, and she trotted faster and threw herself into his arms.

"You're a genius," he panted between kisses and held tight. He was passionate and his heart raced from the high as much as hers. "God, Tanya, I want to make love to you," he whispered between kisses.

It was like being doused by a bucket of cold water. She pulled her head back and stared at him for a moment. He was healed enough and in a few more days he'd declare her healed enough and technically they were still wed... The nerves of the reality of it hit.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He dropped his arms and stepped back.

For some reason, his reaction hurt, although she'd done the same to him. She wrapped her arms around herself. Wanting him close and not wanting him but being hurt by the rejection...it was so confusing. "I should get Charles," she said, turning on her heel. Hurrying down the road, she stopped half way and looked back. It wasn't fair to walk too fast for him, and it would be good to talk but emotions were still a jumble. Besides, his eyes were downcast on the road as he limped along. So she turned and retrieved Charles as the passengers got back in the coach from the lunch break.

Mark went inside the pub and returned to the coach at the last boarding call. He sat to the left and handed over one of two sandwiches wrapped in grease paper.

"Thank you," she said quietly, hating this awkward silence with him.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said in a low tone for private conversation, but he kept a slight physical distance and stared down at the sandwich in his hands.

Slipping her hand into his, she stared at her lap. "It was the topic, not you. I didn't really think about how much time has lapsed, and it took me by surprise. I thought I would be more ready by now."

He gave a gentle squeeze. "I would be content even if you were never ready."

"I know." She sighed and turned her head to find him watching. "I don't know why I'm scared because I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"Because all you know is for it to be horrendous. It will take time and tiny steps. I will watch my words."

Tears welled and she dropped her eyes. "I don't want you to have to watch your words. I don't want to be this fragile thing that you have to be careful around."

"You are not fragile, my Tanya." He brushed away her tear with the pad of his thumb. "There is nothing wrong with needing to be gentle for awhile, that's all. It won't be forever, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. Let me coddle you a bit. You do not have to be strong all the time." He lifted her hand to his lips.

She held his eyes. "I'm sorry I left you on the road."

The man cracked a smile, it somehow easing the heaviness in her heart. "I can't say I blame you, but thank you."

Charles fussed in her arms and turned his head to her with a wide open mouth.

Mark took the pastry as she settled Charles inside the cape to nurse. "He eats often like he's not satiated," he whispered in her ear. "Do you seem to have less to offer?"

With a slow nod, she met his eyes. "My dress is looser than it was last week."

He heaved a sigh and offered her a bite of his unwrapped sandwich.

Hunger had become harder to satiate in the past days, but there weren't funds for extra food. She absently ate what Mark offered as she helped Charles nurse now from the scarred side. When she turned her head for another bite, she met Mark's sad face.

"That's all I have," he apologized.

She looked down at his lap to see the two wrappers, and her eyes flew up to him. "You gave me yours too?"

"I wasn't hungry, and it's good for you to eat extra."

"I'm sorry - "

"I'm sorry that I don't have more." Concern filled his eyes. "I wish you would've told me that you were going hungry."

"Just in the past few days it feels like I could eat forever."

"With how thin you are again, extreme hunger is a sign of starvation," he said quietly and ran a hand through his hair. Then he leaned his elbows on his thighs and held his face in his hands. "At the next town with employment available, we stop. We are not traveling until you are fully recovered."

"But - "

He dropped his hands and gave a fierce look. "That's my answer, and there will be no arguing," he ordered.

"The coach fair has been paid for all the way to Colorado," Grandfather said at the next stop. "It will take weeks to come up with enough for us all again."

Mark nodded. "You all keep going. Tanya and I will come with the babe in a few weeks time once they're both stronger."

"But is it not better if we're all together?" Grandmama fretted.

Mark shook his head. "I will obtain employment here. It will help if you can obtain housing and employment in Colorado so things are ready when we arrive - I expect travel will be hard on Tanya and Charles. At least there will be housing and food to get us by until I can be employed in Colorado."

"But should one or both of you fall ill, my lord - "

"This is our best chance. She grows weaker each day and will not be able to handle poverty once we reach Colorado. I need food and shelter ready for her." He clapped Brigands on the shoulder. "I need you to do this."

"Yes, my lord. We will find the warmest house and the most food ever seen." The dear man took his duty very seriously.

After tearful goodbyes, she took Mark's arm and looked up at his profile. Worry etched his face, but he marched forward to an inn. "Say a prayer, Tanya."

She frowned in confusion.

He went up to the innkeeper's desk.

"Hello! Are you looking for a room?"

"Yes. What is your charge, my good man?" When the man stated the reasonable price, Mark didn't react for one moment. Two. Three. "Would you by chance charge less if it was just my wife and babe?" It was hard to tell if the humiliation or worry burned hotter in his voice.

"Mark, come," she said quietly. "We will find something for both of us."

The innkeeper looked at her and then Mark. "From England?"

Mark nodded and held his ground. "She's not well and the babe is not strong." He set down his last three coins on the counter. "One night. I will find employment and pay you the rest by the end of the week." It hurt to see Mark be so desperate that he was willing to beg.

"You will have debt for food and other lodging after a week."

"You'll be the first I pay."

"What is your trade?"

"Surgeon, but I can work in a factory or mine - "

"There are none of those around here, and a new surgeon came into town a couple months ago." The innkeeper sighed and leaned an elbow on the desk. "Your plan is no good."

Mark looked devastated, and hopeless and so very, very worried. He scooped up the coins with a single nod and turned with her.

"You look strong."

Mark turned.

"Does that limp stop you from carrying things?"

"No." He frowned.

"THere's a blacksmith. He is in need of a hand - he broke his hand last week and cannot work. If you do the labor, he'll likely split wages with you. It's hard and hot work."

Mark smiled and walked back to the desk. "Where can I find him?"

The man held up a wrapped hand. "This is my father's inn for me to work until I can get back to my job. The men around here are old or scrawny. My work has been piling up. Do the job good, and you and your wife can stay the week." He offered a hand.

Mark shook on the deal.

In the room upstairs, she let him take her cape and turned to face him. "Mark, blacksmithing is intense physical labor. I don't know that your back is ready for it."

He hung her cape on a hook behind the door without taking his off. "Beggars cannot be choosers, Tanya. My back has had two weeks to heal - "

"And that is not enough time for muscles to repair themselves."

The man gave a stern look. "It is enough. There's still the afternoon left. I saw the farrier shop just down the road should you need me. Stay in here and I'll be back tonight." He pecked a kiss on the lips. Then he was gone.

She took Charles downstairs. An older woman sat at the front desk. "Excuse me, may I ask if you know of any scullery maid or such jobs in town?"

The woman smiled and eyed Charles in her arms. "You have a job caring for your little one."

Her shoulders fell and she nodded. "We just came from England. My husband is working with the blacksmith so we have money for food and lodging. Thank you." She turned and headed for the stairs. Maybe getting her cape and going door to door at shops would turn up a job. Mark's back wouldn't tolerate blacksmithing for long.

"Are you any good at washing dishes?"

She turned, her heart beating faster. "I can do dishes with the babe tied on my back."

The woman smiled. "Follow me. The lunch crowd just finished in the dining room and the dinner crowd is about to start. You can help my daughter in exchange for free meals."

"Oh, thank you!"

It was harder standing at a sink for three hours with a babe on the back and sweating over hot water than expected. If the dinner crowd was much larger, it'd take until nearly midnight to get done. The daughter of about fourteen enjoyed talking, so it helped to pass the time.

* * *

"What are you doing?!" a deep voice boomed at half past eight that evening.

She startled as hard as the girl and spun around. Mark was covered in soot and sweat, his angry expression rightly making the girl duck behind her in fear. "There's no reason why you have to be the sole wage earner - "

"We stopped traveling so you could rest! How long have you been in here?!" His eyes glittered in a temper.

Nonstop since he left at three probably wasn't a good answer. Raising her chin, she held his glare. "I earned us free dinner."

An ungentlemanly curse flew from his lips. "Get upstairs!"

The girl burst into tears. "You can't beat her! She's just trying to help because she's worried about your back! She didn't do anything wrong!"

She turned and blinked in surprise. "He's not going to beat me. There, now, don't cry." Giving the girl a hug, she then held her at arm's length. "I daresay I might be deaf for a week when he finishes, but he won't hit me. Why would you say such a thing?"

"He's so angry. Papa always hit when he got angry."

"Where is your papa?"

"Dead a year ago."

Mark came over and set his hands on his hips, his temper still lending a fierce look. "I promised to never hit her, but I did not promise to not yell should she do something stupid like work when she has been ill." He threw a dark look.

She rolled her eyes and then wiped away the girl's tears. "Not all men cause pain. Do I look frightened of him? He has a hot temper, but it does not extend to his hand or words. Do not fret. Should you be worried, you may stop by my room to make sure I'm alright."

The girl nodded, seeming to feel better about it.

Mark stomped up the stairs behind her but refrained from slamming the door in the bedchamber. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking every inch the brawny blacksmith.

She sat on the bed and untied Charles to lay him down on a pallet on the floor to sleep. Then she turned to Mark, who still glared. And looked every bit a virile man. "Sweat and dirt look good on you." Even in a fit, he could still cause butterflies.

"Don't try to sweet talk me, woman. I gave explicit instructions to stay here and rest. I go out and slave away to come back and find you wearing yourself out!"

"Washing dishes is not wearing myself out. It's peaceful work, and Louisa is very good company."

"Did it by any chance occur to you that by handling dirty dishes, you are exposing yourself to illness?"

"The odds are very unlikely, as I'm careful to not touch my face or Charles unless I wash my hands twice. But I'm sure you're about to lecture me anyways." She smiled and folded her hands in her lap.

He stomped forward and lifted her ankle, pulling off her shoe. "See? Your ankles are swollen - "

"As anyone is want to do when standing for awhile."

"And more so when recovering from childbirth yet!" he snapped. Then he straightened and pulled her to her feet, setting his hands on her belly and back. "You goddamn have no baby weight left! That's supposed to take months to lose, not one!"

She smiled up at him. "There is a tub in the kitchen that I'm sure they'd let you use. I can help you wash."

"Don't change the subject! You aren't doing anything but getting in bed!" he barked.

"Yes, Mark." She looked up from beneath her eyelashes.

"I'm going to go wash!" he huffed. "Don't follow!"

"No, Mark." A shy smile tugged.

"I should discipline you, you know that?" He stormed to the door. "Would serve you right!"

She giggled. "I shall be a good girl and await my punishment when you return."

He spun and ground out a frustrated growl that portrayed his sexual tension too. "Dammit, woman! Do not make innuendo when I'm angry with you!" Then he jerked open the door and slammed it behind himself.

She stripped and washed in the basin on the dresser and then got in bed.

The man came in a bit later, his temper seeming to have calmed. He hung his freshly washed clothes over a chair and then peeled off the nightshirt that must be on loan. The poor thing shuffled to bed. Sighs and groans filled the air as he laid down. "I didn't know it was possible to be this exhausted."

"Does your back hurt?" She rolled toward him.

"The hot bath helped." He reached for her and stilled when he came in contact with bare skin. "Are you alright if I hold you like this?"

She scooted closer and draped a leg over his and rested her head on his shoulder. "You're in no condition to do anything about a naked woman in your bed."

"Never underestimate a man's motivation. But I fear it would take an extraordinary amount to make me wish to move again."

With a laugh, she kissed his cheek. "Then you shall have to be content with this." She draped half her body over him, snuggling perfectly close in the crook of his arm.

"Ah," he sighed and closed his eyes. "You are so soft in all the right places." His chest rose and fell a little slower and a little slower as he fell asleep.

"You will wear yourself to the bone, husband," she whispered and turned out the lantern.

* * *

At lunch the next day, she packed a picnic basket and walked to the blacksmith with Louisa.

Mark's sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and sweat dampened his hair even though he worked in the open winter air. His muscles strained against the fibers of his shirt as he held some piece of glowing metal with large pliers over a large metal block and hammered. The clank of his hard swings echoed through the street. Letting go of the hammer, he pulled a handkerchief out of his leather apron and wiped his face and neck.

Dear heaven, there was something very appealing about a strong man bending iron. She stepped under the roof of where Mark and the other man worked, the temperature quite hot near the fire. Louisa held back a bit. "Mark?"

He turned and smiled. "Tanya. What are you doing here?"

"We brought you lunch." She held up the basket. "Sandwiches and we thought you'd be hot, so we made ice for your water."

"Ice," he sighed wistfully.

She pulled out Louisa's old handkerchiefs. "Maybe if you fill these with ice and tie them to the back of your necks, it won't get so hot."

"Oh, I could kiss you," Mark breathed and gladly tied the ice pack around his neck. His eyes rolled back. "This is heaven. I could never be a blacksmith - too much like burning in Hell."

The blacksmith laughed and lifted his bandaged hand to wave. Louisa broke away to take him a sandwich and ice.

"Are you resting?" Mark's hungry bite into the sandwich took a quarter of it out.

"Yes, I'm being a good girl. An agreement was made with Louisa's mother that if I do lunch and dinner dishes, we can have free meals."

He stopped eating long enough to give her a look and release a long sigh through his nose. "You and I did not agree on that."

Raising her chin, she held back a smile. "It is easy enough work, and that much more we can save on trying to get to Colorado."

His expression sobered instantly.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I should get back to work. Thank you for lunch." The man pecked a kiss on her cheek.

Louisa kept up conversation all afternoon, but her mind kept wandering back to whatever could be bothering Mark.

* * *

When he came upstairs after bathing that evening, she sat in bed nursing Charles. He sat in bed and stared at the sheets for a moment before turning to her. "We need to talk about Colorado."

"He's hungry still, and I need help." She turned to offer her back. "What about Colorado?"

The man scooted closer and reached around to help Charles get food from her other side. "Have you heard any of the news about what happened a couple months ago in Colorado?" His voice was very solemn.

She shook her head and looked over her shoulder at him.

"They're calling it the Sand Creek Massacre. The U.S. Calvary did some terrible things to some Native American tribes in Colorado. Many of the slain were women and children, Tanya."

She swallowed hard. "Grandfather's people?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment. "I don't know for certain, but my understanding from the location he spoke about is it could be. Your grandparents would've been on their way to England when it occurred. There's much unrest about Native Americans out West." He released a heavy sigh and held her gaze, regret shining in his eyes. "I'm afraid to take you out there. Your features are strong enough that you cannot pass for an Englishwoman if anyone knows the appearance of a Native American."

Her heart pounded. "But - "

"Tanya, they are not just killing, they are mutilating and torturing to death. I would fear every day that someone would realize your heritage. I'm ashamed to ask it of you, but should someone ask, you are to say you are Spanish. Odds are the people here do not know that appearance to question it."

"Grandmama and Grandfather must not know. When they reach there - "

"They will likely receive word before getting that far. We will stay here in hopes that they return. I have a telegram waiting at the destination for Brigands telling them to come back."

"But the English that Grandfather spoke of in the town sound like they are friends of the Natives. They must be providing aid. If - "

He turned to face her. "Tanya, lands of the Natives have been cut to a thirteenth of what they were agreed to be given. The men are not given the rights of a white man, and the women...Tanya, I fear what white men would do to a Native woman." Tears welled in his eyes. "Unspeakable things were done to women - far worse than what you've endured. Last month there was a retaliation attack and there is rumor that another is happening and spreading into Nebraska. I wouldn't deny you finding your people, but I won't take you to the middle of a war zone."

"So they must come up with another agreement to end the war - "

"And you would trust the government to honor this treaty when they have ignored ones past? One man is all it takes to cause unrest. From what your grandfather says, the Natives do not have guns and weapons to be able to fight well should even a drunken band of thieves attack."

"Mark, I won't hide my whole life!"

"I'm not taking you there." He shook his head and got up and poured a glass of water from the pitcher.

"Mark - "

"No!" He whirled around, his eyes fiery. "They gut babes out of Native women to impale the babes on sticks! They mutilate women and children in horrific ways and leave them behind to die! I am not taking you there! This is not open for discussion!" he boomed.

"But - "

"Enough!" He slammed a fist down on the vanity, making it rattle with the force.

She blinked in startled surprise.

He stepped closer and pointed a finger at the ground as he snarled, "I will not hesitate to use my legal rights as your husband - and with enough coin I will find a priest willing to forge a license - to stop you from going to Colorado. This is not a game or a tantrum," he snarled. "Make no mistake that I forbid you to go."

A choked laugh of shock came out. "You wouldn't forbid me anything,"

"Watch me," he growled, his eyes dark and stormy. "This is a matter of life and death, and I do not jest. I will go to any lengths you push me to."

With a heavy heart, she nodded. Instinct said that this would be the only time Mark would ever forbid anything, and he would indeed go to any lengths to do what he thought was protecting her and Charles from harm.

He sat on the edge of the bed, presenting his back, and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I do not find pleasure or pride in doing this to you," he said in a low, solemn voice.

"Do we shame you?"

He turned, with grief reflecting in his eyes. "Never. And I would hope you know that."

She nodded and sniffled. "Do you think Grandmama and Grandfather will come back, or will they want to stay in Colorado?"

"I don't know." He scooted back to sit against the headboard and pulled her closer to curl up in his arms, with Charles done nursing. "I should hope they would to be with you, but they have family there who might need them very much right now. Should they choose to stay permanently in Colorado, we will figure out how close we can safely live near them."

"Do you think Papa took Mama away because he was afraid she'd be hurt?"

A deep sigh. "Perhaps there was unrest and he worried. Maybe he kept you away from them out of fear that you'd one day return to Colorado. I don't know."

* * *

She stood at the sink a few days later, absently washing plates. Mark needed longer and longer backrubs at night to attempt to counter the pain he caused from intense labor using muscles not yet healed. Nibbling her lip, she stared at the bubbles in the sink. Dishwashing wasn't exactly reaping benefits when eight hours of washing earned three meals a day for two people. Something had to give, and worry said that it would be Mark's back.

"You're so quiet today." Louisa's voice broke into the thoughts.

Offering a smile, she shrugged. And regretted it the minute her back protested due to the weight of the babe all day, every day. Pretty soon Mark would put an end to this because her weight continued to slip down, and Charles's barely nudged up. "Just thinking."

"Tanya!"

Poor Louisa nearly hit the roof as Mark shot into the kitchen all dirty and sweaty from work.

"Come! The town physician died in his sleep last night." He held out a hand, his eyes a bit wide in his hurry.

Her eyebrows rose and she dried her hands. "That's awful, but what do you want me to do?"

The man grabbed her hand, a smile splitting his face. "Yes, but it is good fortune for us. You are the new town nurse." Then he dragged her out of the kitchen.

"What?! What do you mean I'm the nurse?"

At the front desk, he stopped long enough to untie Charles from her back and hand him to the innkeeper's widow, who wore a big smile. "One of the townsfolk has what sounds like appendicitis. You're going to help me do surgery, Tanya." Then he pulled her to the front door.

"Wait! We need cloaks and you don't have tools and you're dirty - "

He looked down at himself. "Yes, that is a problem." The man charged up the stairs with her in tow to the bedroom.

Inside, he ripped off his shirt and washed in the basin. "Dress, Tanya. Should his appendix burst, he's dead."

She untied the empty wrap from Charles and grabbed their caps. "You don't have another shirt - "

The man pulled on the short nightshirt and tucked the ends into his pants. "It'll have to do. We stop by the surgeon's office on the way and grab his bag. Come!"

Apparently the town had no qualms about Mark stepping in because two men had a buggy at the ready outside with a surgeon's bag loaded. "A half mile south, the farm is on the right. It be Frank Horris you lookin' fer!"

Mark pulled her up and snapped the reigns. "When we get there, you get a pot of boiling water and two basins and soap. Who knows how well he cleaned his tools, so we will boil them. While that happens, we'll wash. You will fetch the tools while I wash his belly..." Mark continued with explicit instructions for how this surgery would be over and done within fifteen minutes.

"And if it burst already, what then?"

He met her eyes, his expression suddenly very solemn. "Then you get to learn how we tell a patient and family that he's going to die a terrible death."

Her heart beat faster in dread. "Mark, I know nothing about surgery. You need someone who knows and is fast - "

"I need someone with a good head and who is good enough to do something for the first time as if she's been doing it for years. Do exactly what I say and everything will be fine."

He pulled the buggy up a drive where two young boys waved him down. Mark grabbed the medical bag and, with one arm, swung her down without breaking stride to the front door.

"Papa's in here!" The boys ran to the house where an older son opened the door. Mark gave a nod but darted straight after the boys down the hall.

A woman sat on the edge of the bed next to a man writhing in pain. "I don't know what's wrong," she wept. "He was fine during lunch and then all the sudden fell over saying his side hurts."

"Where exactly does it hurt?" Mark dropped the bag and pulled up the man's shirt.

"Here," the man gasped and pointed to his lower right side. "Stabbing pain."

Mark looked at the woman. "We need boiling water and Scotch or whiskey. He has appendicitis. As long as it hurts, it means we can do surgery and get it out before it kills him."

"There's water over the fire," the wife sobbed.

A hysterical woman wouldn't help anything. Confidence took hold - confidence that shouldn't have been there, except Mark needed her help. She grabbed the wife's hand and pulled her out. "Come help me. Your husband needs the water put in two basins - one for my husband to clean his hands and the other to make sure the tools are clean so as not to infect him." She looked at the young man wringing his hands in the hall. "Fetch the strongest liquor you have in the house. We'll use it to clean his skin."

Moments later, she dashed into the bedchamber with a basin of hot water. The wife followed with another and one of the little boys ran in with Scotch.

Mark grabbed the Scotch and dumped it all over the man's lower abdomen as the man laid naked on the bed. "Wash, Tanya. Everyone else, out so we do not cause him infection with coughs or touching."

She herded everyone out and then dumped the tools into a basin that Mark had selected from the bag and set aside.

"Am I...gonna die, Doc?" The poor man was in a sweat from the pain.

"You're damn well not going to on my watch. Tanya, chloroform. We'll get it out, and in a few weeks you'll be back to work." He continued scrubbing in the basin.

Digging through the bag, she doused a rag and held it to the man's nose. "You'll feel much better when you wake up." The man's eyes closed and she glanced at Mark. "How long?"

"Give it another few seconds," he said over his shoulder. "Hold your breath and then throw the rag out the window so we all don't pass out."

Tossing the rag and Mark's dirty water out the window, she hurried over to wash now that Mark was done.

"Wash three times, especially under your nails. Then I need you over here." He grabbed a scalpel out of the basin of hot water.

Her heart pounded. It was exhilarating and terrifying and amazing and nauseating as she watched over her shoulder.

Mark made an incision with swift precision, cutting through the layers to get inside. He grabbed a forceps and reached right inside the man. He pulled out a long, slimy thing that looked like raw sausage. A tiny little tail-like sausage stuck out of the end of it. "Do you want to hold or cut?"

She blinked. "Um, hold is probably safer."

He gave her the forceps. "Do not let his intestines touch anything because the field isn't clean." He grabbed scissors.

Her eyebrows shot up. "These are intestines?"

"They're not chocolate," he said dryly and made a small cut next to the protrusion. "You have to tie off the vessel because the intestines are highly vascularized. Then tie off the appendix and snip." He used a rag to catch the little sausage that he cut off.

"What is that?" It was disgustingly intriguing.

He dropped the rag and tissue into a bucket at his feet. Then he swapped the scissors for sutures. "That, my dear, is the appendix. Did you see how it's swollen? Infection is raging inside. Now, we do a purse string stitch around the appendectomy site so it protrudes into the intestine rather than make a pocket for an infection to return." Then he took the forceps from her and dropped the intestines back in.

"That's it? That's what could kill him?"

The man wiggled his eyebrows and offered a crooked grin. "Yummy, isn't it?" Then he started stitching the abdominal muscles.

A laugh burst out. "That's gross! You like to joke during surgery, don't you?"

"That would be sick and unprofessional while we are digging shit out of a man."

Clever. Quite literally it was shit. She snorted a laugh and covered her face with her sleeve in embarrassment.

He chuckled. "I'm glad you like my twisted medical humor. Surgery is too stressful without a bit of laughter. Anna - " The words cut off, as if he realized what he said.

"Anna what? Didn't find your humor amusing in the ballroom?" she teased.

But he didn't smile. Instead, his eyes remained locked on creating very precise sutures on the man's skin. "She never had any interest in hearing about what I did all day, much less laughed at my jokes. A surgeon was not the profession of a gentleman." He shrugged but failed to hide the hurt.

Stepping shoulder to shoulder, she cut the suture string for him. "You have proven time and time again that you are not just a surgeon, but a genius one. It is a profession that brings you happiness and pride." She met his eyes. "If having passion and intelligence to save lives is a non-gentleman's profession, I'm not sure that I wish to meet a gentleman."

He searched her eyes, seeming to take that quite to heart. "All my years at university did not teach me as much as you have in these past months," he said quietly, his voice deep and intimate. "I've met duchesses and queens, but not until recently did I ever meet a woman whom there wasn't a title worthy enough."

Tears welled. He had a way of saying the simplest things and bestowing them with great honor.

He cleared his throat, as if suddenly self-conscious with the raw intimacy of the moment, and handed her a bandage. "Wrap him while I find dry sheets to get him decent again." The man swept out of the room with the basin of tools.

She turned so as not to witness the poor man's nakedness as she worked a bandage around his middle.

Footsteps sounded from behind. "Forgive me, I should've asked if you're comfortable touching a man." Mark set sheets on the bed.

"I'm just...he just..." Her cheeks burned hot as she avoided his eyes. "He is nearly your age but does not look a thing like you."

Mark cracked a smile and took the bandages from her to do it himself. "Because of religious or health reasons, some men are circumsized."

Oh goodness. That section of his textbook made more sense now. She turned and began washing her hands for something to do to hide her hot face.

"Should you practice medicine with me, you'll become accustomed to seeing nudity. It becomes scientific after a time rather than embarrassing." When she didn't say anything, he added, "Should it make you uncomfortable, I can work on males alone, Tanya."

"No, I just..." She turned and dried her hands on her skirt. With a furrowed brow, she stared at the floor for a moment to gather thoughts and then met his gaze. "I think I want toget consummation over with."

His eyebrows shot up and he cleared his throat. "We'll discuss this on the way back. His wife is waiting to see him."

Mark took the horses at a leisurely pace on the way to the inn, and the silence dragged on for several minutes. "Tanya, I do not know that rushing into it is a wise choice. We also don't know yet if the surgery worked for you to be able to accommodate a man. Nerves may not be healed yet and what would normally not cause pain might - "

"Mark? I wish for you to first test and see if it will work and show me what goes where." She drew a steadying breath. "He did things and I'm confused what is supposed to happen."

"I will do whatever makes you feel safest."

* * *

"Kiss me," he breathed against her lips in bed hours later.

"Why?" She probably shouldn't squeeze his hips so hard. Letting go, she clutched handfuls of the sheets to brace for intrusion. He sprinkled kisses along her neck, but that wouldn't make it hurt less. He needed to just get it over with, just figure out if consummation would be possible.

"Because you will relax better if we kiss. It won't hurt you if you want me," he purred in a husky tone that would've caused shivers in any other situation. His hand slid down in between when she didn't kiss. "Let me please my wife. If in the throws of passign you still wish me to see if we can consummate, then we can cross that bridge." His lips returned to brush over hers.

Her heart beat faster from the magic his hand wove. "If we fit, are you going - "

"We will decide later," he whispered and put her arms around him. "Be with me, not him. I won't hurt you." He rolled her on top.

That simple promise, and without the frightening sensation of being pinned under a man, made the fear fade away.

Her heart raced with the pleasure he created. His tongue led a seductive dance with hers. There was a strange but wonderful fullness sensation from his hand that was immediately gone again. She broke the kiss and looked at him in confusion.

"Did it pain you?" His chest rose and fell against hers, and his breath puffed over her lips as he held her eyes.

She shook her head.

"I think we would fit." He pressed a kiss to her brow.

Leaning up on her elbows, she held his eyes. "Show me how it is you would do it. I won't be scared knowing what to expect."

He rolled to be on top and settled his weight, holding her gaze the entire time and stroking her hair. "Are you frightened with me on you?"

"No," she whispered and ran her hands up and down his back. "Maybe."

"I won't hurt you. Tell me if it starts to be uncomfortable," he whispered and kissed her neck. "I'll say before I enter. All I ask is you to not fear me. I love you."

"I love you." Her heart pounded so hard it hurt as he kissed under her ear. "Mark?" Her voice shook.

"Do you wish to stop?" He held very still.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms under his and held his shoulders. Her face crumpled.

His back coiled in a beautiful arc under her hands, and he created pressure and then released. "Don't weep, sweetheart. Let me simply pleasure you so you aren't afraid. We need not go further."

"Just do it." Her nails bit into his shoulders.

"Breathe." He pulled her hands around to lay against his chest and pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "You have the power to push me away." Laying his hand over hers, he searched her eyes. "Feel my heart beating. Consummation is not just physical. My heart will beat with yours - your pleasure will be mine, your fear will be my fear and my strength will be yours. We are equals, Tanya. I will not force anything upon you. Do you truly wish for this to continue?"

She sniffled and nodded.

He raised onto his elbows and guided her hand down. "You understand that this part of me goes where you birthed Charles?"

"While your fingers go in my..." It was too humiliating to say. "And your other hand holds onto my throat for leverage." Tears fell. "I don't understand why you say it won't hurt, but just get it done." She pushed on his chest enough to make him lift himself. Then she turned over and braced for the pain.

"What are you - ? Oh, Jesus, no." He rolled her over and held her eyes. "We are like this facing each other." He settled his weight down and held her shoulders from underneath. "My hands will stay right here. You put your hands against my chest so you can push me away if you get frightened." When she did, he held her eyes. "Now I kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, my lady love. There is no grabbing your throat or being so rough that I need leverage."

His kisses very gradually stirred desire. "I love you, Tanya," he whispered between the softest kisses sprinkled down her throat. "You have my body to take as you will and my heart to hold forever. I would offer my life to slay your dragons."

Her hands slipped around his shoulders to pull him closer, needing a hug off comfort that he readily offered. "I love you."

"Kiss me because you want to," he breathed against her lips and waited. "Because you want a poor surgeon who has nothing to offer but his heart."

"I want more than that - I want Forever with you."

A breathless sigh of contentment escaped his lips right before she captured his mouth and grew lost in his kiss.

She gasped when his back curled with such gracefulness and he joined her body. There was no pain but exquisite pleasure and serenity. Her body arched up on its own, bringing him closer to be one. Then she stilled, soaking up the beauty of this moment of becoming his in every way possible.

He trembled in her arms but remained still. His heart thundered against her chest, and he panted where he buried his face against her neck. "I love you," he whispered.

The power of those words, spoken in such a vulnerable and intimate moment, ended the rest of the fear. It was like glass shattering in thousands of crystal splinters, offering fresh air that hadn't been tasted in nearly a year. This is what it felt like to breathe again, to not longer be a prisoner. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what, my love?" he breathed in her ear.

"For setting me free."

He lifted his head and held her eyes, a tender smile on his lips. "You did that yourself, Tanya."

Reaching up, she stroked his cheek. It seemed impossible to love him enough. "Make love to me."

Something in those blue eyes changed - they somehow became more tender as he stroked her cheek. His back coiled with such beauty and released very gently while holding her gaze.

Her eyes rolled back and her body arched to meet him in a slow dance. His lips caressed her neck as her head fell back in pleasure. She laced her fingers with his, not afraid of him pressing her hands into the bed in exchange for more closeness with him.

There was no fear or pain...only beautiful, tender passion and soul-binding love.


	35. Chapter 35

She glanced at his nakedness as he dressed for work the next morning. Her seat on the bed while nursing Charles offered ideal viewing of Mark's muscles. He looked even more handsome today than yesterday. It was odd how consummation felt like it should've changed everything but seemed to change nothing.

Mark went about getting ready as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night. He caught her eye in the mirror while he brushed his hair and smiled.

An embarrassed smile took hold, but she looked away quickly as a hot flush rose up. Certainly he would've made love before getting dressed if he wanted to do so this morning. He'd mentioned that Anna denied lovemaking in daylight, so perhaps he wasn't going to make love before work. And, oh heavens, he was a very good lover.

He walked over and pecked a kiss on the lips. "I'll see you tonight. Do not go wearing yourself out doing dishes. Should another medical emergency happen, I might be back for you." He gave Charles a kiss and then walked to the door.

She shot to her feet with Charles in her arms yet. "You aren't going to make love to me before you go? That certainly wasn't a proper departure after what had happened last night."

The man turned with a broad smile. "Other women would pout or ignore their husbands, but forthright honesty is what I've come to expect from you." He didn't come closer. "Do not doubt that I will be uncomfortable most of this day, with plenty of time for thoughts about last night. However, you need a break to make sure you aren't sore." His hand rested on the doorknob.

She took a step forward to stop him but refrained from going closer when he stopped and waited expectantly. "I..." her cheeks burned, but she squared her shoulders, "Should you need to find me on your lunches, I do not mind that you get dirty and sweaty."

A smile touched his lips, as if he found the invitation heartwarming.

"I love you, and it doesn't mean I only love you after dark. I mean..." Goodness this wasn't coming out right. Drawing a deep breath, she blurted the truth. "I'm your wife and I want you to have me when you wish. I found great pleasure in your bed and have no reason for objection to wifely duties." There. She sat on the bed again.

He walked over with a soft smile and stroked her cheek with a finger. "I found great pleasure last night too. I wish for you to say when you have a desire for affection." His cheeks burned a little pink. "I'm pleased to have a wife who has no hesitations in expressing her love. Today I must decline, however, because I worry that the fresh scar tissue cannot handle more already."

It was bold and inappropriate, but a worry that nagged nonetheless. Shame threatened. "Do I feel like a woman is supposed to?"

"Can I tell a difference in that I had to surgically fix what he did?"

She nodded.

The man visibly bit back a smile. "No, sweetheart. You feel and look like any other woman and pleased me well - get that notion out of your head. Take it easy today, and have a warm bath to sooth aching, if needed. There is scarring inside too that might leave you sore. I'll be back after dinner." He brushed a kiss over the lips and left.

* * *

"Your husband said to meet him at the door in five minutes," the innkeeper's widow said that afternoon.

She turned at the sink. "Another call?"

"Yes." The normally friendly woman walked out.

Exchanging a worried glance with Louisa, she washed her hands and followed the woman to the lobby. Mark was already at the door, his face very solemn. "What's wrong?"

He untied Charles from her back and set the cape around her shoulders. Then he handed Charles back to her. "A man accidentally shot his leg a couple weeks ago while cleaning his gun. It sounds like he has gangrene and needs an amputation at the thigh."

"That's horrible. Come, maybe there's something you can do." She pulled him out the door to the buggy.

But he dug in his heels. When she looked at him in confusion why he wasn't hurrying, he cleared his throat. "Tanya, there's nothing to be done to save it anymore. These surgeries are very traumatic for the patient and family. First, they fear how they're going to survive without income. Second, there is the psychological effect of having a severely crippled family member and his own life turned upside-down. There will be sobbing and begging to find some other way. The worst is when the patient begs and fights the chloroform because he knows when he wakes up, his life will never be the same." He swallowed hard. "I need you to help control bleeding during surgery. I will handle the rest."

She wrapped her arm around him in the buggy. "Mark? Maybe you aren't even going to think about this, and I think you have a very good chance of it never happening, but if you for some reason ever did need that amputation because of your knee, I would do everything I could to redesign the house or make a fake leg or do whatever I could to give you independence. I wouldn't see you as any less of a man."

He transferred the reins to one hand and held her gloved hand, but his gaze remained straight ahead. "I'm terrified of today," he whispered, "because that might be me in a few years. I understand all too much his terror and fear."

"The only thing to be frightened of is the pain, but that will be controlled with chloroform if needed, just like you did for Anna. After that, we will get through it together - there's nothing to fear once you'd heal. We'd find the best surgeon. And I know he'll be alright because he has an excellent surgeon."

It was worse than imagined. The wife sobbed and became hysterical. The adult son had to drag her out of the room when she refused to listen to anything but beat Mark's chest with her fists to keep him away from her husband. She was too grief stricken to listen to anything Mark tried to explain.

"Please, please," the man begged and sobbed from the bed, his body already hot with fever from the infection and rot.

"You will die within the week without surgery," Mark said in a firm but calm voice. Only the slight quiver in his undertone revealed how this tore him apart, but he kept his emotions in check and continued to try to reason with the man.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, walked over to sit on the edge of the bed and took the man's hot hand. "What is it that you fear?"

That simple question got his attention. He clung to her hand. "Ellie is so frightened. Her father lost his leg in war, and she watched him wither away and die a year later. Without his income, they starved and she lost a sibling to the starvation. My boy isn't quite right in the head and can't work. What's to become of them if you chop off my leg?" His tears fell. "She'll be afraid to tell me things. She'll see that I'm weak and can't get out of bed. I become nothing but a burden, another mouth to feed. She would be better off a widow."

She held his eyes. "Your work is of physical nature here on the farm. But you can read and write?"

"Well enough."

"Can you not hire yourself out for desk work? Your frame is not so large that you cannot use crutches to get around. Once you are healed, there is no reason for you to be bedridden. Your limits are only the ones you give yourself. If you are determined, you will find ways. You will still be the man of the family who supports them. But what are Ellie and your son to do if you die from rot? They both need you very much. And what an inspiration you will be for your son. You cannot live forever to provide for him. Teach him by example that people cannot put ties on what he can do. He looks physically able. Show him that he can have pride in even a simple, physical labor job. God has not let this rot kill you because your work here isn't done."

He nodded and wiped his eyes. "Bring Ellie in for a moment."

She stayed back with Mark as the man spoke firmly to his wife that this needed to be done. He mostly calmed her hysteria and then sent her out.

Standing beside Mark, she kept her head turned away from the gore during surgery. Thankfully, Charles seemed content to sleep on a blanket in the corner of the room.

"Cauterize."

Picking up the medical probe hanging over the fire, she set the hot end to where Mark pointed among the severed flesh. The room dipped as the scent of singeing flesh wafted, and she blinked hard.

"That's enough."

She returned the probe to the fire, walked over to the window and opened it to lean out. It was a hideous surgery, and the heat from the fire raising the temperature of the room didn't help with the nausea.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"I need to cut the bone now. Cover your ears because this will push you over the edge."

Covering wasn't enough to keep out the sound as Mark used a handheld saw. She leaned out the window and retched.

"Tanya, I need you to not think about the blood. He needs cauterizing again, and my fingers are literally in his arteries stopping it."

Something about the slight panic in Mark'a voice strengthened her knees. Grabbing the probe with a rag, she raced over and held back the nausea at the scent of more charred flesh. Once it was over, she returned to the window, the cold air offered blessed relief. "Are you doing alright?"

"Can you bring a chair? I get lightheaded with amputations sometimes."

The surgeon passing out wasn't good. Pushing a chair over, she held his arm to help him sit with his bad leg. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. My mind got to wandering about what I'm actually doing to him."

She rubbed his back. "You're saving his life."

"Check his pulse and make sure he's still under."

Stepping aside, she set her fingers against the man's neck and frowned. "It's coming up."

"Give him more chloroform. He could be waking up."

Following his directions, she administered more until the heartrate slowed again. Then she glanced at Mark, who appeared to have aged decades in the past couple hours. She took a step toward him just as Charles began to fuss. "Are you alright for a few minutes? I can tie him to my front so he can nurse while we work."

He nodded but didn't look away from his work, so she got Charles situated. Then she fetched a cold rag and applied it to the back of Mark's neck. "Honey, do you feel alright? You're a bit pale."

"Wash your hands again. I need you to stitch," he said weakly.

Cleaning as fast as possible, she looked over her shoulder as Mark drew in deep breaths. Then she took his seat and resumed suturing a flap of skin over the wound. Concern for Mark prevented thinking about the gore.

Mark washed his hands, felt the man's brow and checked his breathing, and then laid down on the floor.

She glanced at him in alarm. "Mark?"

"Keep stitching. It's always by the end that I feel like I'm going to pass out. Feet or hands don't bother me, but entire appendages are too much."

"I can't say I blame you. It'll be too late for you to do more blacksmithing when we get back, and it'd be good for you to have a night off. When we get back to the inn, do you want to take Charles for a walk?"

"A snowstorm is supposedly moving in from the West. I am game for eating in bed and doing nothing all evening."

She smiled and tied another stitch. "That sounds nice. Are these close enough?"

He sat up and looked. "They're starting to get a tad spread out. Go back to how you did them over here at the beginning. Do you want me to take over? I don't feel like I'm going to be a damsel in distress anymore."

A laugh bubbled up. "I'm fine. You rest. Well, actually, can you take Charles off? He's starting to gnaw, and it hurts."

"What are you doing, my boy?" He freed Charles and set him on the floor for a moment as he reached around and buttoned her dress again. "I enjoy Mama too, but we must be gentle."

"Mark!" she gasped in embarrassment.

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Forgive me, that wasn't very gentlemanly."

"No, it wasn't. And you're not apologetic in the least." She threw him a look and held back a smile.

"Guilty. It's not often I can earn a blush from you. While you're suturing a man doesn't seem like an appropriate time for _seducing_ a blush." He smiled and walked Charles to burp him. "I should enjoy an evening with you and Charles - I believe it'll be a first since his birth where one of us wasn't nursing the other back to health. Which reminds me, have you put on any weight this week?"

She winced. There went the hope that he'd forget to ask for a few more days. "He's nursing more, and you worry far too much, you know that?"

"Tanya," he warned. "What's your weight?"

"Louisa says the scales here are in pounds rather than stones."

"And?"

She chewed her lip. "Ninety-one."

"Ninety-one?! That's not much more than what you weighed when we wed!"

"Shhh! We will talk about it later." She glanced at him as she tied the final stitch. "How much do you weigh in American pounds?"

"Two hundred fifteen!" he barked. "Ninety-one?!"

Her eyebrows shot up, but he was a large-framed man and carried solid muscling. "I subtracted Charles weight from mine when I stood on the scale, and he's seven pounds. Is that good?"

"Not for his age," he snorted. "But it's far better than your weight!" He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "There has to be something I'm miss...ing..." His eyes flew to her waist, the wheels in his head visibly turning. "You ate wild gamemeat that you caught yourself. Are you certain that you cooked it all the way?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Parasites would make sense why you can't gain weight - "

"Ew! But my stomach would be bloated, not going down."

"Not if they aren't tapeworms."

She washed her hands. "I have no other symptoms of parasites, Mark. It's not as if I ate feces for meals," she huffed.

"The rabbit meat could've been infested. Tanya, it could be a number of parasites, possibly some even not discovered yet. Let me give you a treatment and see if it works. We'll find a wet nurse for Charles for just a couple days because I don't know if it will leech into your milk."

* * *

The inn had an empty room next door that night, thankfully. Mark could be heard pacing in the next room most of the night as the medicine took effect. A knock sounded. "Are you doing alright, sweetheart?"

She curled up on the bed in agony and burst into tears.

The door opened and he strode inside with Charles asleep in his arms. "Tanya?"

"Go away." She buried her face in the pillow and wept.

"I'm sorry, but we have to make sure - "

"I'm full of worms!" she wailed.

He was silent and then his weight shifted the bed. "Love, I know it feels gross, but this is good - it's an easy fix to get you well."

"No! It'd be better if it was some disease! It's disgusting and, and..." the sobs made it impossible to continue.

"Ohhh, my love, I caught worms while in prison." He snorted. "That sentence alone should make you feel better - I've had worms _and_ been in prison."

It was almost enough to laugh.

He rubbed her back.

Then her face crumpled. "Have I had them my whole life to be underweight?"

"It's possible for a few years, but you likely would've died before now if it'd been since childhood. It likely diverted nutrients from Charles during pregnancy, which explains his low birth weight. You still losing nutrition explains why your milk production is dwindling." He pressed a kiss to her brow.

* * *

"Do I get to hug you now?" he asked a few days later.

The humiliation didn't burn quite as hot now that he and Charles were done with precautionary treatment too. "You should run screaming from me." She continued to put her hair up in a twist as his arms slipped around from behind.

He frowned. "We both can probably run faster without worms weighing us down."

She spun around and swatted his shoulder.

The man simply laughed. "You're taking it far too hard. I have seen disgusting things. Worms do not move me. Your cheeks are pinker and Charles seems more satiated already the past day or so. All I care about is you're both getting better." He stepped forward and slipped his arms around again. "I don't have to go to work for another hour." A kiss pressed to the crook of her neck.

"Why the late start?" She put a pin in her hair.

"I worked Sunday." He pulled the pin from her hair to let it cascade down.

"Mark - "

"Shhhh, the babe is sleeping." The man reached around and unbuttoned the front of her dress and reached inside.

A soft sigh escaped. "You're not subtle at all. I shouldn't hold any appeal for a long time."

"Oh, you hold very much appeal," he whispered in her ear and bared her shoulder to press kisses to it.

"You're twisted, you know that?"

A chuckle vibrated deep in his chest against her back. "And you like it." He shed his own shirt.

Seeing him in the mirror was too much. She spun around and captured his mouth. "Oh god, I love your muscles." Her hands skimmed over his thick shoulders. Passionate flames lapped until she jerked his hips closer.

"Oh!" He smiled in surprise, the hungry look in his eyes growing. "I like that you're eager." The man offered tantalizing kisses as he relieved her of clothes. "Mmm, Tanya, I can tell you're starting to put on weight already." Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, his hot breath stirring strands of hair, "I love that your hips have flesh for me to hold now. No silly notions of being afraid to gain too much. Your weight will level itself out, and you'll be beautiful no matter what you weigh."

A giddy giggle broke free. Curves. She finally had curves, albeit tiny ones. And it was so comforting to know that Mark wouldn't care how much the scale said.

"I want you again," he panted in bed a bit later as he laid on top. he sprinkled hungry kisses along her neck. "Your passion makes me want you more."

She pushed on his chest until he rolled her on top. "Blacksmithing is making your muscles bigger," she panted between hungry kisses.

"You like large muscles?" A note of laughter tinted his tone, and he raised his head to kiss along her throat.

"I like yours," she purred and closed her eyes. Then she pulled him up to a sit and straddled his hips, linking her hands behind his neck. Holding his gaze, she opened her mouth to ask. The courage faded, but he waited ever so patiently. "Is it wanton to make love in your lap like this?"

"We are both free to make requests and free to deny them." A gentle smile softened his eyes. "I should very much like to make love to you like this. You are not sore?"

The answer made his head fall back with a gasp of ecstasy.

She laid tucked against his side a bit later, her chest heaving as much as his.

"Does it frighten you to not be in close contact during that act? You seem to prefer being held tight."

Her finger stilled in tracing the muscles of his chest. "If your chest is touching me, it is not like him," she said softly. "He had his way twice."

His breath stopped.

"And his chest never touched me - rather he leaned his weight into his hand around my neck. If I feel your heart against me, it's not like him."

* * *

She walked down the road with Charles tied under the cape to deliver Mark and the blacksmith lunch that afternoon. The force of the hammer echoed louder in the empty street than usual on this blustery February day. A man's roar of effort followed another hard clank. She frowned. He must be working on something big. Stepping under the roof, she stepped around saddles and horseshoes hanging on a makeshift wall.

Mark roared with the force as he used two hands to slam down the hammer on a glowing red horseshoe.

"Perhaps we move onto something more durable," the blacksmith said and cooled the horseshoe in a bucket of water before adding it to a substantial pile.

She hung back to watch. It was as if Mark was angry.

"Here's a plow that must be made. Hammer a straight rod." The blacksmith set a glowing red, crooked pole on the anvil.

Mark roared with another swing so hard that the rod broke in two. The end the blacksmith didn't hold with long pliers shot through the air and impaled the ground a short distance away.

"Do you need a break?" The blacksmith sounded a bit leery.

"No," Mark snapped and dragged a sleeve across his wet brow.

"Your back won't work tomorrow if you keep up like this all day," the man warned.

"I'll work on the goddamn ship anchor." Mark walked over to the fire where a thick chunk of metal burned.

She stepped forward and offered the blacksmith a sandwich. "I see it's a productive day."

"Aye, and he's going to pay for it tomorrow. As angry as a bear he is today."

Approaching the fire, she stayed back from the intense heat where Mark began to mold the metal. "I brought lunch."

He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not hungry," he growled and resumed.

"At least take a break with me and come cool off outside."

"Take that babe inside," he ordered without turning.

"It would be good for you to come take a walk for just a few minutes - "

"No!" he shouted and spun around, his face and clothes covered in soot and bathed in sweat.

She remained silent. He'd been so gentle and tender this morning. Something had set him off since, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss it yet. So she set the basket on the ground. "It's here if you want it." Then she turned to go.

"I'm so furious I could smash a whole goddamn ship!" he roared.

Turning to face him, she drew a deep breath and held Charles through the cape. her heart broke. That devastated, angry gleam in his eyes was familiar. It was the detail of the assault that angered him. The details had never seemed important enough to say aloud. Until now.

"How many times?" he seethed and stepped closer, angry tears shining in his eyes.

She looked away. Somehow it was too hard to talk about and look him in the eyes. He needed to know - even with the understanding that the answer would rip out his heart - he needed to know how many times she'd been raped that night. "Twice," she whispered. "The rest you don't need to know."

"Yes, I do," he hissed. "You are mine! I have a right to know how he hurt you! I have a right to understand what may frighten you and what memories he burned in you! You are mine to protect and keep from harm, real or imagined!"

Tears welled at seeing this tear him apart. "You cannot undo it."

His lip quivered, his rage so profound that it took any form of escape - even in tears. "I wish I would've torn him apart when he was in my hands. I wish you could find safety in watching me destroy him, that fear would never flash in your eyes again."

She cupped his sweaty face in her hands and held his eyes as her own tears fell. "It is your gentleness that protects me from the fear. I don't need you to kill him to make me feel safer. I understand that when men get upset, they want to physically destroy things to work through the anger...but I don't need you to do that to feel safe. I know that you'll physically protect me. I need you to protect me from the fear. Just the fear."

He gave a slow nod, as if digesting her words. "I need to work through this anger."

With a sigh, she let go of his face and searched his eyes. "Would it be best to tell you the details? This isn't the first time you've gotten upset, and it seems to happen each time you find out something more."

"You should only speak of what you wish. Rehashing it all at once might be too painful. If you prefer to leak details as you're comfortable - "

"But do you want to know?"

"Tanya."

"Mark, I want an honest answer. I know I don't have to tell you things, but I want to know what you want too."

He looked away. "I think I know everything, and then I find out more and it drives me insane."

"Come walk. I will tell you everything, but if I don't walk, I'll have a meltdown talking about it."

After three laps down the street, she finished and didn't move to hold his hand or have any physical contact.

He remained silent, his face impassive as he stared at his feet and continued walking. "Does it upset you to talk about it - besides in the obvious sense? I don't have to return to work immediately if you wish to stay a bit longer."

"No, I think I prefer to not have male company right now." She glanced up at him.

"That's understandable. I quit work in a couple hours to check on the appendectomy and amputee patients. If you decide you want to talk before I go, or if you desire to come along strictly for medical purposes, you just need to say."

She didn't go inside immediately when he returned her to the inn's front step. Instead, she watched him limp down the street. He seemed calmer than expected. Minutes later, a man's roar of efforts followed by the excessive slams of a hammer rang down the street. He sounded even more torn apart than before. With a heavy heart, she took the babe inside.

* * *

A conversation was needed with Mark to help him work through this anger. She'd felt the same emotion at first after he'd been harmed in prison. He stoked the fire just as she arrived. "I thought you might need company on the walk back."

He turned, his expression so solemn. "I'm too tired to smash a ship anymore."

"I'll let the Navy know." She smiled.

That won a small smile.

He took off the leather apron and drank several ladles of water. Then he nodded to go.

She slipped her arm through his and fell into step beside him. The moment he opened his mouth to protest, she cut in. "I don't care that you're dirty and sweaty. We sweat all over each other this morning, and neither one of us minded."

An earnest smile finally broke free. "That's a bit different."

"Hush, husband. I am enjoying a stroll on your arm. You wouldn't deny me simple pleasures."

"No, I wouldn't," he chuckled. It was good to hear him happy.

Before she could say another word, a man tore down the road on a horse geared for carriage pulling rather than horseback riding. He skidded to a halt, his horse frantic from its master's panic. The man had a gash on his brow and blood covered his pants, but he didn't seem to notice. "Gather all the men you can find! My father's carriage overturned down the road - he and my mother are trapped inside! Another was trampled by his horse!"

Mark spun to her. "Leave Charles with Louisa and fetch my bag." Then he turned to the blacksmith, and they started banging on doors to get men to help.

She ran back out with his bag just minutes later to find four men pulling together a horse and cart. Mark sat in the driver's seat and took her hand, pulling her up in the seat beside him as three other men climbed in the cart. "I'm sorry, but I might need you, Tanya." He snapped the reins.

* * *

Blood stained the snow embankment. A man lay sprawled on his back in the road with a pool of blood under his head. His horse laid a few feet away on it's side, its legs and neck clearly broken. Both appeared dead. The carriage lay overturned and crushed on the side of the road/ A woman's cries came from inside.

"Check for a pulse on the rider while I see what damage is in the carriage," Mark said and jumped out the minute the cart stopped.

She ran to the man and knelt as Mark and the men tried to tear apart the carriage to see inside. The metallic sting of blood assaulted her nostrils. So much blood everywhere. She set her fingers alongside his neck. A faint pulse. "Sir? Can you look at me?" She leaned closer and fell back on her bottom in horror - the man's head had been bashed in and matter had oozed out of his skull. It had to be brains from a horse kick to the head.

"Tanya, is he alive?!" Mark yelled.

The shock kept his words from processing for a moment. All she could do was stare at the gore.

Mark limped over and felt the man's pulse. Then he leaned forward and must've seen the injury. "Come. The wife doesn't seem to be too injured, but the husband is conscious and bleeding from a belly wound. They're both still in the carriage." He pulled her up.

"What?! Mark, he's alive! We can't just leave him!" She dug in her heels.

He turned to hold her eyes. "He's unconscious and there's nothing we can do to save him. Them, we can. I will send a man over to sit with him on the chance he wakes up before he dies, but he won't. I need you with me working on the couple."

With one last glance back at the dying man, she let Mark pull her away.

"Tie a horse to it!" Mark yelled.

The men tied the reins to the roof of the carriage that had collapsed, and they pulled as she led the horse forward.

"Stop! It's dragging! Tanya, come here!" He leaned into the broken window of the carriage and felt around. Then he turned to her. "You can fit through there. I need you to go in there and get her dress off. She has a large petticoat. We get her out, and then you get the petticoat under him and give us the edges to lift him out. The son is fetching saws so we can make the hole bigger, but we don't have time to wait - he's already unconscious from shock or blood loss." He lifted her up. The carriage groaned. "Be careful, Tanya. Bring the lantern so she can see!" he yelled to one of the men.

She used her arms to lower inside, toeing to feel the way so as not to step on the couple. The stench of blood inside overwhelmed, and she had to breathe through her mouth to halt the nausea. Light appeared.

An older woman curled up in the distorted corner of the carriage held her husband's head in her lap. It was hard to tell who was covered in more blood. Something suspiciously like intestines hung out of the man's belly. "Where are you hurt?"

"Get him out," the woman sobbed.

"We need to use your dress as a sling, but I need to know where you're hurt." Her hands shook. Fear wouldn't help the situation. They needed help, and Mark needed her to do it.

Then the light caught movement on the man's belly. A tiny river of blood squirted with each beat of his heart. "Mark! An artery is severed!" She tried to stay on her feet crouched down to avoid the glass underfoot, but it was impossible to maneuver in the mangled space. Grimacing from the sharp shards underfoot, she walked on her knees. Something warmed her knees and shins from the cold. It was wet and a bit slippery. And then it dawned - his blood. Oh god, he bled out everywhere - more blood than she'd ever seen come from one body. Intestines were severed and bleed out too. The man was so pale. It was a perfect horror scene. Panic welled. "Mark!"

"Use her petticoat and pack it as much as you can," he said in a calm voice. "Where the intestines are bleeding, tie the petticoat around them to cut off blood supply. We can resect those without causing him issue."

It must've been the panic lending strength because she grabbed the woman's petticoats and ripped off a strip without much effort. Her hands shook as she tied it around his intestines as tight as possible. Then she ripped more petticoat and hesitated. She'd have to jam them inside his belly.

"It's the only chance to save him. Don't think, just do, sweetheart. Put the cloth into the artery with enough pressure to halt the exanguination."

Clever. The scientific terminology did something psychologically - he became not a man who was dying with horrific injuries but a textbook case, as if Mark read the step-by-step directions.

"Good. More cloth. Now, reinstate the colon gently back into the quadrant where the spontaneous hernia occurred."

She actually cracked a smile at his grasping at straws for terminology. That was one hell of a hernia.

"Good girl. Apply dressing tight to hold the site, and examine for obvious fractures in the femurs, ulnas, and such."

Check for broken arms and legs so they knew what to be careful of when lifting him out. Arms looked good. Right leg good. Blood soaked his other pant leg. Oh god, this wasn't going to be good. Leaning over, she sucked in a deep breath, which was a mistake in this blood-filled cavern. Bone stuck out of the leg. "Left tibia with compound fracture!" Tearing off more petticoats, she swallowed down bile as she made a tight bandage around it to staunch the bleeding and somewhat stabilize the appendage..

"Are you a doctor?" the woman sniffled.

"My husband is. We need your petticoats to lift him out."

"My arm is broken."

She helped the woman slip off the garment that was thankfully from the waist down. "Crawl over to the window so they can get you out." The men lifted the wife out while she got the dress under the man. Then she looked over at the distance to the window and the height from the ground to window. Even if able to drag him over, she couldn't lift him high enough for the men to reach the edges of the makeshift sling. One problem at a time.

Crawling under the window, she grabbed an end of the petticoat and pulled as hard as possible. He barely budged.

Mark climbed on top of the carriage as the men began sawing to widen the hole. He reached in to try to grab the material, but it was another arm's length away. No matter how he manuevered, he couldn't get his shoulders through.

"Pull me." She grabbed the dress tight and stood. His arms wrapped around her chest, but the second he pulled, the walls of the carriage groaned and collapsed in a little more. He was instantly gone and all sawing ceased.

"The carriage will collapse on them," Mark said, his voice a bit distant. "It's too unstable to even get her out. If we cut a hole in the other sides, it'll cave." Panic grew in his voice.

That left going through the ground. She looked down. The other carriage door was right underfoot. "I need a wood plank or bar or something for leverage!"

"What?" Mark's voice came closer, but the men apparently didn't dare climb up to the window again.

"If I get the door open inward, we can curl up in the hole as you all push the carriage up."

"Tear apart the harness!" he yelled. Seconds later, a short metal pole lowered through the window. "Do you have it?"

"Got it!" She jammed it under the door edge. It didn't take long for sweat to run down her back. The door splintered and cracked, bit by bit. It was taking far too long with how fast the man bled out.

"Is it working?"

"Not really," she panted.

"Something wider with more leverage! Make something!" he ordered the men.

Scratching at the front of the carriage. The men must be tearing apart more horse harnessing. The carriage groaned.

"Stop!" Mark yelled.

Her heart froze as creaking joined the groaning. She looked up. The wood of the upper wall splintered. And then a loud crack and everything shifted. She screamed and ducked as it started to cave in.

"No!" Mark's scream cut over the noise.

Every bone didn't crush. She looked up. It stopped.

Hands curled around a hole near the floorboards. A male roar of sheer will. Mark. He pulled hard enough to cause tension to keep the carriage from folding in on itself. More hands appeared and frantic orders.

Grabbing the pole, she jammed it under another chunk of door and splintered it enough to rip off a chunk. It was a small hole, but it had to do. There was no more time. Fear of death fueled strength, and she managed to drag the man over. Bending his legs up to fit in the hole, she climbed on top of him. There was one chance to do this. "The hole is small! If you slip with the carriage, we'll both be crushed! Go!" Straddling the man's belly, she tucked her head down by his and covered her neck and head with her arms. And prayed.

Shouts and male roars of effort filled her ears as her heart froze and waited for the carriage to shatter every bone. The carriage groaned and small pieces of wood fell on her back, The sound of the carriage collapsing drowned out all other noise.


	36. Chapter 36

Men yelled. "Higher! It's breaking! Go!"

A deafening crash. She tensed, bracing for the impact of the carriage. A gust of wind blew from the wood collapsing.

Strong hands wrapped around her arms and she was pulled up against a hard chest. Opening her eyes, she blinked. Then it dawned that the wind had come from behind. The carriage laid just an arm's length back, collapsed in on itself with all carriage wheels pointing at the sky. The men must've lifted and shoved it back.

"Jesus, I thought you were going to be crushed. Are you hurt?" Mark patted her down.

She looked down, her dress a sponge for all the blood that had been in the carriage. "I don't think any of it's mine. He needs surgery. Now."

He let go and pulled her into the back of the cart where the men already had the man and woman loaded. "Is he dead?" he called to another man kneeling beside the rider.

"Yes, sir! Go! We'll load him and find the sheriff to identify him!"

The cart started forward, and Mark glanced over at the woman as he began to work on the man. "Tanya, check her for mortal injuries."

She turned to the sobbing woman as Mark barked orders at the other men. "They'll get him fixed up, but he'll need you in good health to help him recover. Let me look to see if you're hurt anywhere besides your arm."

"Report, Tanya," Mark snapped moments later.

She finished feeling the woman's stomach for signs of pain. "Bump on the head and a broken arm." Then she used the rest of the petticoats to make a sling for the woman before turning back to Mark.

"Put your finger right here." He grabbed her hand and stuck her finger inside a squirting vessel. "Goddamn miracle if we don't kill him from infection," he whispered under his breath. Then he tied it off with sutures. "We're goddamn bouncing too much for surgery," he snapped. "Stop the cart!" His surliness portrayed his stress over the gravity of the man's injuries. Even Mark seemed afraid that the man couldn't be saved. "Start a transfusion. I don't care where you start it from, but I'm not stopping to hold still. Get another man going too."

She started a transfusion from one man being Mark moved too much himself yet. The moment he stilled and began intricate stitching of vessels, she started a transfusion from a large vein in his upper arm.

"Resect his intestines where you tied them off with a petticoat. Pull them out of the abdominal cavity so feces don't contaminate his gut," he said under his breath.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him in horror. "I have no idea what I'm doing, and we are not sanitary by any means," she hissed under her breath.

"I'm goddamn stitching arteries as fast as I can. He is in shock, and we need him closed as fast as possible," he whispered and gave her a dark look from beneath his brow. "Cut and I will put him back together. It won't matter if we're sanitary if he dies first."

Picking up the scissors, she gave him one last look.

He didn't look up from his intricate work. Even in this cold, sweat collected on his brow. He began with step-by-step directions, never once able to glance away from his intricate suturing. He simply trusted that she performed surgery exactly as he instructed. Mark reached in and took over seconds after she finished. "Start a third man for a transfusion."

She looked up. It seemed like a thousand minutes had passed, but a glance at a man's pocketwatch said less than fifteen. Another transfusion started.

When she reached to stop Mark's donation, he pulled his arm away. "Leave it. I can do a half pint extra without complications. Start the cart!"

Even when unloading the man, Mark refused to stop his own transfusion. When he wasn't looking as they lifted the man, she jerked it out of Mark's arm. "Ow! Dammit, woman!" He reached for it.

"No! You do him no good if you bleed yourself dry!" She disconnected it from the man and followed everyone upstairs at the inn.

"Mrs. Johnson!" Louisa gasped and stared at her in horror in the hall.

"It's his blood. Is Charles doing alright?"

"Yes, ma'm, but are you hurt?"

"No, please keep an eye on Charles while I help my husband. I'll be down in a bit." She closed the door, kicking everyone out but the wife and another blood donor.

* * *

The hours felt like years later when she sagged against Mark's shoulder in the buggy after successful treatment of the accident victims and checking in on the two surgical patients from days prior. "I feel like a thousand years old," she groaned. "It must be midnight."

"It has to be two in the morning," he whined.

She looked at Charles asleep inside her cape. "Do you think we can get people to carry us up to bed?" She yawned.

"It'd pay a week's wages for it." He stopped the buggy at the inn and just sat. "I'm too damn tired to untie the horse. Let's just sleep right here."

"If we huddle, we'll probably stay warm enough." A very weak laugh escaped - or more like grunts. "I'm too tired to even lift my head off of you."

Someone walked out of the pub. "Hey, hey! There are the town heroes!"

"Who is that?" she whispered.

"I have no idea. He's probably drunk," he said under his breath as the man came over. Quite a bit of commotion came from inside.

"Come celebrate with us! You saved the Mayor of New York!" The man started to unhitch the horse.

Goodness, he must be three sheets to the wind. She glanced at Mark, who glanced at her.

Mark climbed down and offered her a hand. "Thank you for taking care of the horse. We're so exhausted, we could sleep for ages." He took her inside.

Cheers and applause erupted from the dozens of people crammed in the dining hall and lobby of the inn. Mark froze in his tracks the instant she did. Strangers patted Mark's back as much as hers.

"Here's to the brilliant surgeon and his wife who saved my parents!" The man who had come charging into town from the carriage accident raised his drink in the middle of the room. Cheers erupted. Then the man walked over and handed Mark a fat coin purse. "I'll get the rest from my mother when she's feeling better tomorrow. I'm sure a surgeon of your skill costs much more, but I'm afraid we didn't bring too much money on our trip."

She stared at the purse that fit in both of Mark's hands. It was enough to pay for lodging and food for two more months, if not more.

"I'm sorry, am I missing something?" Mark looked at the man in confusion.

The man laughed and clapped him on the back. "Tired you are, old boy. Busy day. Would you care to join us in the festivities for a bit? Father woke up while you were gone and is raring to get out of bed already!"

Another man stepped forward and introduced himself as the surgeon from a nearby town. "I heard you did an intestine resection. Never had a patient survive it myself. What was your method?" He looked at Mark like a true surgeon hungry for medical knowledge.

Oh dear. Chop and stitch probably weren't the best words.

Mark cleared his throat, recovering quickly. "Simple resection of the ascending colon, with careful cauterization of the anterior cecal artery..."

She bowed her head to hide the smile as Mark made the whole thing sound like a highly scientific medical procedure, and the surgeon hung on his every word. Even though Mark gave her more than due credit for her small role, it didn't seem to interest the surgeon.

Once the surgeon departed, Mark's shoulders slumped and he let out a huge sigh. "My god, I thought the inquisition would never end. Petticoat tourniquet and pocket knife chop isn't exactly the reputation I want to earn."

With a laugh, she patted his arm. "We used what we had - that's what makes it exciting."

"Yes, if he doesn't die of the ten thousand infections we probably gave him." He led her up the stairs.

"You sterilized his gut as best you could when we got here, and you have him on herbal remedies that Grandfather said work well for infections. If he's as energetic as I overheard some say, he'll bounce back and be causing trouble within a few days."

"You were excellent today, Tanya. A fine candidate for medical school." He gave a sideways glance, as if testing the water.

"You saw his reaction - people wouldn't take well to a female surgeon. Plus, vomiting during surgery probably isn't good."

He scowled. "Do you know how many times I vomited my first two years?" he snapped. "I had to have a stomach transplant because I left mine in some field in Spain." The man said it so serious.

She stared at him for a moment. An overtired laugh bubbled up. "I believed you for a second!"

That won a tired snort of laughter from him.

* * *

She giggled and pushed Mark's hands away a couple days later. "Stop! I'm trying to get ready to go with you."

"I don't have to do patient rounds at a certain time. It's Saturday. The babe is asleep." He grinned like an idiot and pulled her down in bed.

"Because it's seven in the morning - "

"See? Patients aren't even awake yet." He trailed kisses down her neck. "We can be wild and loud and no one will be awake to hear us."

A laugh burst out. "And wake everyone up?! No!" Pushing up on his chest, she burst into giggles when he pulled her down and locked his arms around her.

"You made me help you bathe last night without a single kiss."

Her jaw fell open. "I remember plenty of kisses!" She raised up on his chest enough to meet his eyes.

The wheels in his head visibly turned, seeking a reason to pout. "You didn't let me bathe with you," he argued.

"Because you, sir, don't stop at just a bath." She cocked an eyebrow.

He frowned. "You judge me as not being a gentleman? I had the door locked!"

She threw back her head and laughed. "You are terrible, Mark. Fine. If I let you ravish me, will you behave the rest of the day?"

"A gentleman keeps his word. So, no." The man pulled her down to nibble her neck.

Pushing herself up, she rolled onto her back beside him. "Take me," she said in melodramatics and threw her arm over her face. "Ravish me. Make me scream with passion."

His belly laugh made her smile, and he pulled her arm down as he climbed on top. "I shall do my best to give my lady love what she wishes."

With a giggle, she held out her arms for him.

The man was so very passionate and more tender than before, cuddled after making love, held her close on the buggy rides to visit patients and seemed to be quite high on love. So the next day when he didn't even offer a kiss in the morning or hold her hand during Mass, it was quite confusing.

"Mark, have I done something to offend you?" She learned forward in the buggy to catch his eye after Mass.

He simply grunted his disagreement and picked up the reins. His eyes focused straight ahead on the road.

"Did I not please you yesterday?"

A dark scowl flicked to her. "Should you ask that question once more ever, I shall not care who hears since apparently I'm not loud enough for you to not have doubts."

A tiny smile tugged. He would follow through on that threat. "Yes, Mark." At least he spoke. "That's not a good threat, though. Perhaps I wish to see you in the frenzy of passion. If anyone asks, I shall say you had indigestion."

His eyebrows shot to the sky, and he glared. "You will do no such thing. If you do, I shall ensure it's you who has 'indigestion' for several hours the next two evenings."

Her cheeks burned, but she still smiled. "Yes, Mark. I should not wish to become ill every night for a week."

The man released a growl of frustration, not sounding that different than what a bear must sound like.

"With how cranky you are today, one would think I just told you that we're going to have another mouth to feed. Actually, that begs the question: how soon after Charles's birth do we have to worry about another babe?"

He snapped up his collar and burrowed deeper into his cloak, as if he didn't wish to participate in the conversation.

"I should like to have your babe in my belly, but I think Charles should be a year old first." She scooted closer with a wistful smile. "Sometimes I miss being with child and having you stroke my belly to fall asleep. I don't think I'd mind being one of those wives who is always pregnant."

He growled from within his cocoon.

"How many babes do you want? And does it always take once to get with child? I once heard a woman who couldn't for years and years and then did. Is that why we aren't being careful? Must you have me so many times before I can get pregnant again? You're a very good lover, and I wouldn't mind at all. Would you be able to tell before my belly swells if I'm with child? I should think being a female doctor, you probably have a way to tell. That would be different, wouldn't it? You tell me I'm pregnant rather than me telling you - "

"Enough with the chatter, woman!"

"Yes, Mark. But, just so you know, I don't know what we need to do to _not_ have a babe, so you can't bite my head off if I tell you in a few months that I'm pregnant - "

"Woman! We are not trying for a babe, in a couple weeks we must start using protection, it can take more than once to get pregnant and I will examine you if you're late to tell if you're with child!"

"Ohh, you were listening," she cooed with a grin and slipped her arm through his. "I like it when you're surly. It seems like it's been awhile since you've been my cuddle bear." She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "How does pregnancy protection work?"

A frustrated groan escaped him.

He pulled up in front of the former surgeon's clinic down the street. "Get out," he barked. The man climbed down, took Charles from her in one arm and offered a hand with the other.

She smiled wistfully and folded her hands in her lap, holding his eyes. "I suddenly remembered the first carriage ride we took was going to your home. You exited the carriage and didn't turn to offer your hand. It vexed me not because you didn't, but because I didn't have the opportunity to turn you down."

"And I didn't offer because I thought you were being a brat not wanting to come out. I didn't realize your back pained you from the babe," he snapped. "Come."

"I never thought I'd love you. But I love you enough to leave everything and follow you to the ends of the earth." The woman took his hand, her eyes holding the most tender look.

The wench had the damnedest way of stealing his heart at unexpected moments. His nerves were wound so tight, but her beautiful smile made this moment so much less nerve racking. No matter how terribly he blundered the marriage proposal, she would not find fault in it.

He'd been a pathetic, wet-behind-the-years youth when proposing to Anna. It'd been full of jewels and champagne and roses and courses of food at a fancy restaurant when his pockets had been full of Father's money. Here he stood with destitute pockets and a goddamn deed for this rundown clinic to offer for a woman who deserved the world.

"Do we have to go on another call and need your bag?" Charles fussed for her, so she took him back and then accepted his arm.

His stomach clenched tighter and tighter with each of the steps to the porch - the three damn steps that felt like fifty. And his damn knee forced her to wait for him to come up the second and third steps like some damn invalid. It took forever to get up the staircase at the inn, but that hadn't seemed to matter. Now though, the humiliation burned hot. An honorable man would set her free, or at least save up until he had a life to offer her. But going one more day without her legally his was like being told to take a breath of water - it just wasn't possible.

He opened the front door. Thankfully, she was busy with Charles and didn't notice his hand shake. No one made him quiver with nerves so intense that he could retch at any moment. No one made a marquess - even a former one - this frightened of not being worthy. No one made him so petrified and excited and giddy and nervous. Except Tanya. She had the power to make him do anything, and she didn't even know it.

"Oh my," she gasped inside the clinic. "I've never been in here. Mark, it's so perfect. There's a desk in the corner and an exam table." She let go of his arm and walked around the small curtain dividers on the other side of the room. "There are two beds! It's a miniature infirmary! Oh, look! There's a room back here with medicines and tools!" She disappeared behind the curtains.

His heart beat faster. Entire estates had been purchased for Anna as homes, with stables and fruitful flower gardens. This outdated, simple clinic and cabin that could've fit in the foyer back in England wasn't enough, not for Tanya. But Tanya would see not enough as enough, and turn it into their Heaven. He strode in behind her without a word and opened another door at the back of the storage room.

She turned in curiosity and stepped through. "It's a home." Surprise and satisfaction tinted her voice. "How clever - the surgeon's home!" She clapped her hands in front of her lips in glee. "Oh, it's so lovely!" The woman swept through the large room that served to entertain guests and into the small kitchen at the back of the house. Then she whirled through again up the simple cabin staircase to the bedrooms above.

He waited below and held his breath.

"There are four bedchambers!"

More like four rooms barely big enough to fit beds and dressers, nothing like the room sizes back in England. But still three rooms to fill with children.

Tanya appeared at the top of the stairs and frowned. "Wait, why are you showing me this?"

His heart sank. She didn't like it - she realized why he was showing her, and she didn't want to live here. No woman would want this small house for raising a family, to be tied to an infirmary and stuck with a man who made a surgeon's salary. As a world-renown specialist, he'd raked in gobs of money. As a small-town surgeon, they'd be as poor as church mice for years.

When she came down the steps, she stopped before him and searched his eyes. "Did you buy this?"

The deed wasn't yet signed. He shook his head.

"Oh." She frowned. "I don't understand why we're here."

"I needed to grab some tools," he grunted and turned on his heel.

But she caught his hand. "Mark? Tell me what's going on. You're so distant today. I don't understand why you were so affectionate yesterday but so cold today if I did nothing wrong."

He turned to face her, and the hurt in her eyes twisted his heart. "Do you regret our life here in America? Having nothing and a man who can't ever be a renowned enough surgeon to not be poor? Having to come with me on calls and stick your hands in blood, and perhaps sometimes wake up from nightmares of injuries you'll see? There wouldn't be much more money than what we have now. There are other men already in line for you, Tanya. You do not have to stay with me."

Deep frown lines wrinkled her brow. "What nonsense is this? I love our life here. Yes, it's simple, but it's exciting and stable. You forget what I come from, Mark."

"But it doesn't mean that you should have to settle for only a step above."

She cupped his cheek. "Materials are just that - materials. I have a love that is written about in poetry and fairytales. We have a healthy babe and food and shelter, and I hope we have many more children. But even if we don't, don't you see? We are far richer than most people in the world. I love you, and I wouldn't trade any of this."

If he proposed, perhaps she wouldn't feel obligated to accept. He didn't have a ring but a goddamn pathetic deed to offer. Reaching into his breast pocket, he got ready to kneel.

"Are you upset about church? I realized afterwards that it's probably the first time you've been to Mass since Anna passed - "

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't talk about Anna." This moment of all times for her to be thinking about his first wife... Dear god, he was going to heave if he didn't get this over with now. His whole life hung in the balance, and she didn't even seem to realize it. It was terrifying. Because he'd never wanted anything so much.

Just as he knelt, the damn leather knee brace finally broke and he landed on his arse like a moron.

"Oh! Mark, are you alright?" She grabbed his arm and tried to help him up.

Shit, this was all going wrong. God had even resorted to physical violence to knock it through his skull to not propose to her. He should've left damn Thomas in this town with her instead. That thought chilled his heart just as fast, and it suddenly stopped beating. She'd have this life as a surgeon's wife, but Thomas would no doubt be able to offer her a real home and luxuries and -

"Mark?" She cut into the paralyzing thoughts. "I asked if your brace broke."

He stared up at her like some damn deer frozen in fear. And then it all came flooding out. "It broke and I can't goddamn kneel, and this is all screwed up and I swear I'm going to throw up," he snapped, "but if I don't ask, I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life - "

"Whoa, honey, what's wrong?" She knelt and stroked his chest that heaved with nerves.

"I love you and Charles. I'm cranky and poor and stubborn and my leg doesn't work, and you shouldn't want me. The life I have to offer doesn't have luxuries that we knew in England and likely never will. I will work hard to build a name so our family will be respected. I will protect our family in every way I can..."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I know you will. I love you too." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. And didn't seem to understand that this was a marriage proposal.

He took her hand. "I have no money for an engagement ring - "

The woman blinked with wide eyes. And then a soft sob escaped as she seemed to realize what was happening.

"But I will get you one once we have means, even though it may be a couple years. Right now all I have to offer is this home with the money the Mayor gave us, should you wish me to sign the deed." He pulled out the papers. "If you don't like it, I'll find something else to be the home for our babes. Will you marry me, Tanya?"

She threw herself at him, wrapping her arm around his neck, and knocked them back. The woman laid on his chest with Charles and a huge grin as she looked down. "Of course I will. Is this why you've been surly today?" Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You don't have to say 'yes.' I'll provide for you and Charles until you marry, and - " he babbled out of nervousness.

"Mark?" She beamed.

"What?"

"You're an idiot."

He blinked and then scowled. "Dammit, woman, I need a 'yes' or 'no' answer before I have a heart attack yet!" Not the best way to propose to a woman, but every second felt like a thousand years.

She only smiled bigger. "You're mad if you think you won't be stuck with me forever. I love you." Then she crushed his lips with a kiss.

Pulling back, he stared for a moment, much like a damn speechless idiot, as her words sank in. The fear of not having a life with her finally fled. So much weight lifted from somewhere deep inside, that his chest physically hurt - in a beautiful way. He scowled as tears burned. "You could've goddamn just said 'yes,' woman. Or demanded marriage on the boat or as soon as we hit America if you're so damn set on it!"

A soft laugh bubbled up as she gave a loving look. "Yes, Mark. I shall keep my answers concise when you lay your heart at my feet."

"Damn right you will! And should I do so again, say the day we marry, you shall not be a moment late and make me afraid that you ran," he snapped. Dear god, what a wonderful feeling that even after all of this, she still wanted to be his.

"But what if I'm running late trying to look beautiful for you?"

"Show up with your hair in irons and the babe nursing under your nightgown, and I would not give a damn! You will be on time," he huffed. She never would leave him, but he'd have a panic attack all the same.

The wench suppressed a grin. "I will not be late, and I shall do my best to not show up in irons and a nightgown with Charles hanging on me. Your chest is still heaving. Are you still in the throws of a heart attack?"

"Yes, woman! It's good to know that you not only find pleasure in leaving me speechless but causing heart attacks too!"

A beautiful giggle escaped and she smiled behind her hand. "No, I do not. Well, I find pleasure in leaving the great Marquess speechless, but I do not like causing you heart attacks. It is simply nice to know that I can shake you as much as you shake me."

A low growl vibrated up his throat. "I do not try to cause you heart attacks."

"No," she laughed and set a hand over his heart, "but you do cause my heart to skip beats. You somehow manage it when you're being tender as much as when you're being my cuddle bear like right now."

His eyebrow rose in disbelief. "A woman does not find pleasure in a surly husband, much less one as irritable as I am!"

Her twinkling giggle filled the air. "Then there must be something wrong with me because I do. You are being surly right now because you're feeling sentimental. You were afraid I'd turn you down, although I can't conceive why'd you have such a notion. Do you wish to leave me for another life?"

"No! What kind of question is that, woman? I just proposed!"

She grinned. "That is the security you should feel from me too. I would not marry another, and I know precisely who crossed your mind a moment ago. Yes, a life with Thomas would logistically parallel one with you, perhaps, but it lacks several grave points: I do not love him, I do not feel safe with him and..." she cupped his cheek and leaned her forehead against his, "he isn't my surly bear who is my best friend."

Tears welled, just after he'd gotten them under control again! "Goddammit, you take perverse pride in making me weep like a woman, don't you?" He pulled her into his lap for a tight embrace.

She held tight and sighed like she was perfectly content. "No, I take pride in being loved so much that it makes you weep," she whispered. "I love you so much. If you have the license, I'll marry you today."

He lifted his head and looked at her with a frown. "You do not want a dress and - "

"No." She stroked his cheek with her soft fingers. "Perhaps a year ago I would've said I wanted a dress and flowers, but all I want is you".

"Then come with me. We'll go to the priest in another town a few hours away." He grinned so wide that his face hurt. "Tomorrow. We'll leave in the morning and keep driving until we find a church to wed us. You do not wish to save funds for a dress and bouquet - "

"No." Her smile put the sun to shame. "Sweep me away like you can't live another day without me being yours."

When she cupped his cheek, he turned his head and pressed a kiss in her palm. Her cheeks flushed like she found great pleasure in that simple gesture - he'd have to remember to do it more often.

Her eyes softened. "You married me once for honor; now marry me for love."


	37. Chapter 37

"What time is it?" She finished nursing Charles in the vicar's home just a bit down the road from the chapel. The vicar's young wife was sweet enough to help fix her hair after the two hours of travels.

"It's five minutes to when we told my husband and your betrothed that we'd be there," the woman answered and released another curl from the hair iron. Then she picked up another strand of hair.

"I promised him I wouldn't be late. He's nervous that I won't find him good enough and run." The vicar's wife still had half of her hair left to curl. "Just make the curls bigger so I'm not late. He won't care if it looks even."

"It's your wedding day! He'll be fine to wait a few more minutes. Here, you take over curling while I burp the babe - we don't want him spitting up on your dress."

Not that it was much to look at, but the sweet vicar's wife had found an old wedding dress in the donations to the poor box. The woman had insisted that a wedding dress would bring good luck.

She picked up a thick chunk of hair and curled as fast as possible while Charles was seen to.

Minutes later, she grabbed her black boots and tugged them on in a hurry.

"No! You can't wear those with a wedding dress!"

"The dress is too long for him to see my feet!" Five minutes late. Mark was probably having a heart attack.

A knock came at the front door of the simple home. The vicar's wife answered it.

"Is she still here?" Mark. His poor voice quivered just the slightest bit like he feared the answer.

"I'm here!" She yelled across the small cabin, not caring about decorum. "I'm getting my shoes on, Mark!" She finished lacing the boot enough so it wouldn't be a trip hazard.

"Go back to the church. Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding." The vicar's wife gently shut the door in Mark's face.

She shot to her feet in a hurry, but back of the dress tugged underfoot. A loud rip. Oh. Dear. Heaven. Freezing in dread, her eyes flew to the vicar's wife, whose eyes bugged. Cold air hit the back of her thighs. That couldn't be good.

The woman's hand flew over her mouth and she walked over. "Oh saints above, you tore the skirt right off the bodice."

"Pin it. Hurry."

"Pins aren't going to hold that, dear. Oh my." She shoved Charles at her and ran into the other room. Then the woman returned with a sewing box.

"No! There's not time! Give me my regular dress to put on."

"You're not getting married in that dusty old thing. Give me twenty minutes."

"Twenty?! He thinks I'm coming now! Go tell him it ripped - "

"It'll take me just as long to run over there and come back than to just do it. Besides, it's good for a man to be a little self-conscious if he's good enough."

Fifteen minutes later, she hiked up the dress that was about four inches too long and darted out the door. The vicar's wife shouted something and hurried after her with Charles. At least getting in the doors of the church so Mark knew she hadn't run off would settle his fears.

"You're not wearing black boots!" The woman caught up and grabbed her arm on the church steps. "Your feet are a little smaller than mine, but I have some tan leather shoes that will look so much nicer. They might even raise you enough to not trip on the dress."

"For heaven's sake, they're shoes." She made it up another step before being blocked.

"And this is your wedding day. You're going to look back and remember - "

"Not what I had on my feet!" Jerking off the boots, she traded them for Charles, hiked up the skirt to her calves to avoid tripping and ran up the remaining stairs. Of course the front door was solid wood made for a giant to fit through. The weight of it took a great deal of effort to open with one free arm.

Mark paced near the altar with a makeshift cane from a stick and ran a hand through his hair in distress. The poor man's limp seemed so terribly pronounced with a cane not properly sized to his height. His pacing must be aggravating his knee being his limp seemed to be worse.

"She'll come," the vicar promised. "Women always take long."

For crying out loud, the door threatened to crush bones as she tried to squeeze through. It pressed too hard to even shout for help.

He shook his head. "She deserves better than me. Part of me hoped she'd realize it at the last moment." His voice held so much grief.

The vicar's wife grabbed and started to pull, freeing her lungs. "I'm here!" She grunted with another hard push. The door widened just enough for her and Charles to fit. She ran down the aisle, her curls bouncing free from the pin and giving the men inappropriate view of her bare ankles and lower calves.

The vicar's face turned red and he turned his head away. Mark spun around and stared as she pounded down the aisle gasping for breath.

"I'm here," she panted and stopped before him. "The dress tore when...I stood up and was indecent..." She handed him Charles and leaned her hands down on her knees. "I...give me a minute..."

"Did you run all the way from the house?" Mark set a hand on her back.

"She ran like the Devil was on her heels," the vicar's wife said and came down the aisle at a sedate pace. "She was all worried about being late." Then she took Charles from Mark.

He used his hand not leaning on the cane to brush the curls from her face as she straightened. "Where are your shoes?"

"I said she can't wear old black boots for a wedding, but she refused to go back to the house for a pair of my shoes - that would look perfect. Instead, she took them off at the door."

Mark stared at her for a moment as she panted. And then he burst into laughter. "Ah, Tanya, I didn't think you'd take it to heart when I told you I'd wed you in irons and a nightgown. But I'll take it all the same."

"An ancient wedding dress and no shoes are a step up." She smiled and then looked at the vicar, who still held a hand over his eyes. Glancing down, she dropped the skirts that she'd still been holding up. "For heaven's sake, they're just legs." Taking Mark's arm, she ignored the twinkle in his eyes. "Marry us before _you_ decide to run," she said to the vicar.

The vicar peeked to see if she was decent and then began the wedding. His words faded when she looked at Mark.

He held Charles in one arm and her hand in the other. His smile threatened to burst with all the happiness it contained. Only a handful of times had his face ever transformed with such joy, erasing all worry and hardship. If pure love could be captured into something tangible, Mark's face was the epitome of happily ever after.

When it came time for the ring, she held out her bare hand, having given Mark the wedding ring on the ride here.

He slid it off his smallest finger, the ring only fitting past his first knuckle. "With this ring, I thee wed," he repeated after the vicar and slid the ring onto her hand.

When the vicar cited her vows to repeat, she looked at the vicar in confusion when he skipped 'to obey' in the vows.

"I promised you that we are equals," Mark explained.

Turning her head to look at him, she smiled. His feminist, forward-thinking ways would quickly earn him another reputation as insane, but it didn't matter. Mark's value of her free will above his reputation warmed her heart. "To love, honor and cherish," she filled in and held his eyes.

It went by so fast and before she knew it, the vicar said, "You may kiss the bride."

Her heart beat faster. In the chapel in England, Mark had given a reluctant, chaste peck on the hand for the first kiss. Even though there hadn't been love for him, it'd been her first kiss from a man and a first wedding kiss. He wouldn't give such an unemotional kiss this time. Perhaps a kiss on the cheek being in a chapel.

He handed Charles to the vicar's wife and turned. Those blue eyes locked with hers, and he cupped her cheek as he leaned in. She set her hands on his chest, the beating of his heart so calm and gentle as hers fluttered. The softest brush of his lips over hers stole her breath. He straightened with a tender smile, and it was like his soul reached through his eyes and touched hers. The world shifted in that moment, and yet his steady hand kept her steady. "I love you," he whispered. Those warm fingers gave a delicate stroke on her cheek before he dropped his hand to hold hers.

It was impossible to look away from his beautiful eyes. Even though it'd been a brief, chaste kiss, it had been romantic and beautiful. And so very perfect.

"Ahem." The vicar broke the spell.

She blinked and flushed. Goodness, she'd been staring at Mark like some moonstruck school girl. But Mark still smiled, as if he found her gazing endearing. It'd been a kiss from Mark, though - she hadn't kissed him back. Raising onto her toes, she cupped his face and pulled him down. Pressing her lips to his, she broke the kiss just as fast but held him there. "I love you too," she whispered with tears blurring him. Then she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, needing to feel him close.

His arm wrapped around as he leaned on the cane, returning the hug with enough strength to portray that he was feeling sentimental too. He didn't snap or bark like usual, though.

Pulling back, she looked at him. Tears shimmered in his eyes. "My cuddle bear isn't going to growl?" she whispered with a small smile.

"Sometimes you make him forget how," he whispered and brushed a tear from his eye.

She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose before letting him go.

The vicar and his wife clapped. "Come, sign your license," the vicar grinned.

Mark led her over and signed. Then he handed her the quill.

She signed her first name and then paused. Signing Debonario had become so automatic, so natural, that instinct was to still do so. A tiny part wished to not lose his real name - it was like the only tie left to how life together had started not much more than six months ago. She looked up at him.

He must've sensed her hesitation because he set a hand on her back and quietly said, "It's only letters on paper, sweetheart."

So she set the quill to paper and left that part of their lives behind forever. Tanya Johnson. It looked so wrong, so plain, so lost. Sadness crept up. Mark's hurt at her false courting right after his false death finally made sense. She had just publically severed all ties to Mark Debonairo, turning her back on the name of a good man that the world had just misunderstood.

When the vicar and his wife had left and the wedding dress had been returned, Mark handed her and Charles into the carriage. But he didn't let go of her hand. "You've seemed sad since we signed the license."

She looked down at her lap for a moment and nodded. Swallowing down the tears, she met his eyes. "It feels like...I don't know. Like I abandoned you. I know it's stupid because you're you and right here, but publically I just slapped your memory."

"Tanya, it's what I wanted and what is safer for you and Charles. You and I know the truth, and that's all that matters. I'm still the same man standing right here, just legally as your husband again."

"I know. I didn't expect it to make me sad." Her lip quivered. "You know that if you really had died, I wouldn't have remarried."

"I know, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her hand without breaking eye contact. "If something happens to me, I want you to find a good man who will make you and Charles happy."

She shook her head.

He seemed to realize it was a futile argument - he released a deep sigh and limped around the buggy to climb in the driver's side.

* * *

When he pulled up to the cabin two hours later, a strange man covered in sweat and dirt stood on the front steps of the clinic.

"May I help you?" Mark, interestingly enough, helped her down on his side of the buggy - the farthest from the door. And the man.

"I heard you're the doc," the man growled. "I set my brother in there. He was cleanin' a gun and accidentally shot himself."

Something about the man didn't seem right. Apparently Mark sensed it too. "I shall see my wife inside and be right there." Only Mark didn't take a step.

The man pulled off his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his hair. "I can see to the little lady. My brother is bleedin' like a stuck pig."

Mark's hand tightened on her arm, as if to make sure she stayed put. "Then I suggest you go apply pressure to the wound. I must get some water boiling to clean him."

The man gave a shifty glance to her.

She held his eyes in challenge. This wasn't a man interested in attacking a woman but one interested in something to improve financial well-being. It was a man on the run.

His gaze shifted quickly enough to Mark, narrowing in on the poor makeshift cane...almost like he assessed how much of a threat Mark would be.

Mark, however, still refused to move. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Mark knew these men were trouble and refused to let them see his limp, his limitation in protecting his family. "Your brother is likely bleeding out." His tone held a steel edge.

The corner of the man's mouth snaked up in a smile. "Take yer woman inside."

Tension in Mark climbed every second, but he remained calm and unyielding. He took a step forward, putting himself between her and Charles and the man. "I think we both know he's not your brother. Set your gun down. I'll take my wife inside and then fix up your comrade. Get him out as soon as I'm done, and no one needs to be the wiser that you've come through town." He said it in a tone that didn't offer negotiation.

"Deal. Except yer lady stands beside me to make sure ya uphold yer end of the bargain, doc."

Silence.

She peeked around Mark's shoulder. The man didn't appear to have a gun on his person, but perhaps Mark had seen one. These two idiots butting heads would just stir up nerves and get Mark shot. Stepping forward, she held Charles tight. "Fine."

Before Mark could protest, the man shot forward and dragged her toward the clinic.

"Get your hands off her!" Mark roared so loud that it would surely draw attention.

The man whipped out a gun and aimed it at her throat. She jumped so hard that Charles woke up crying.

Mark stopped dead in his tracks where he hobbled to the steps, his eyes as wide as saucers and skin just as white.

"Have ya ever seen a bullet through the neck, doc? Just right and it makes the head snap off."

How dare he threaten and on their wedding day! Anger boiled over at being manhandled by some thief. It'd happened twice in the past - once she'd paid for it and the next time Mark had. This ass messed with the wrong 'little lady.' She pushed away the gun and glared at him. "If you shoot me, you have no leverage with him, idiot. You want to stand out here yacking like old women so everyone can see you holding a gun to me?"

Mark looked shocked and the man blinked as she marched on ahead into the clinic. They both were dumbfounded long enough that she swept past the unconscious man on the infirmary bed, taking the gun from his holster without notice.

The man jerked Mark inside as she set Charles under a bed to keep safe. He prodded Mark toward the injured man. There was enough distance from Mark to make a safe shot. These felons wouldn't let them live with having seen their faces. Slowly straightening, she readied the gun behind her skirts. It was loaded. Mark almost reached the injured man, his eyes on her from across the room. His gaze locked like he had a plan, but that plan probably involved him wrestling the gun away and getting shot. Raising the pistol, she fired.

A howl of pain and the man fell to the floor clutching his thigh.

Mark snatched a bed sheet and had him tied in an instant as the man cursed and yelled for his comrade to wake up. "Jesus Christ, Tanya! Would you stop playing goddamn hero?!" Mark looked ready to kill her as he tried to gag the man.

Charles's cries didn't help with the ruckus.

Grabbing the babe, she shoved the gun at Mark and ran out the door. "I'm getting the sheriff!"

"Ethically, I have to treat them," Mark snapped once the sheriff had the men handcuffed to the metal beds, even though the one was still unconscious.

"Mrs. Johnson, you go to the kitchen and get supper ready. I'll stay with the doc and make sure these scoundrels behave," the sheriff said.

"Lord knows I could take on a damn cripple even in my condition!" The outlaw yelled and actually spat at Mark.

Steam could've shot out her ears. Marching over to the bed before anyone could stop her, she snatched the sheriff's gun from the holster, held it to the pig's head and cocked it. "Keep your mouth shut, or I'll blow it off," she hissed, repeating his words.

He smirked but kept quiet. When she turned and handed the gun to the sheriff, a disgusting slurp filled the air. "I bet you taste good under that skirt, little spitfire."

Before even realizing it, she whirled and the man's head snapped back and his eyes rolled in unconsciousness. Pain exploded through her hand. Looking down in surprise, her hand was curled into a fist.

Mark cursed and limped over. "Did you break your hand?" He uncurled her fingers and examined the knuckles.

"Cripes, remind me not to anger you, Mrs. Johnson." The sheriff chuckled.

"So much for a damsel in distress," Mark muttered but cracked a smile.

"I didn't even realize I got angry." She shook out her hand and flexed it. "It hurts, but I don't think it's broken."

"Let's see if we can find some ice outside." He picked up Charles and linked her arm through his. Then he led the way outside. Silence. Even when he left her and Charles and circled the outside of the clinic, his eyes focused on the edge of the roof for icicles, he didn't say anything. He returned from around the corner with a fat icicle.

When he slammed it down on the front steps to shatter it, she startled at the force he exerted - too much force. "Um, are you angry with me?"

He gathered the pieces and pulled a worn handkerchief out of his pocket. Then he wrapped the pieces and walked over. Silence remained as he took her hand and set ice to the red knuckles. But he didn't let go. His eyes finally met hers, his face stoned over. "Do I not make you feel safe?"

Meeting his gaze straight on, she took a slow breath. "Mark, I learned as a child to fend for myself. I saw a chance to help both of us and took it."

"You didn't answer my question."

Wrapping her fingers around his hand that held on the ice, she stepped closer. "I don't fear men when you're around. I'm not like Anna, though, where I'm going to sit and wait for a rescue. We agreed that we're partners."

"He noticed my leg. Look me in the eye and tell me that you were going to take the initiative before then."

"That has nothing to do with it - "

"Doesn't it? You were perfectly content to let me handle it until you saw him notice my leg. You had no right to put yourself and our son in danger. If he'd been a lunatic, he would've blown your head off," he seethed.

"But he wasn't going - "

"You don't know that!" he roared, his shout echoing down the road. He lowered his voice, those blue eyes piercing with rage. "I would not be your escort if I wasn't able to protect you and the babe. Don't tell me that you don't look at me like a cripple, because today you did," he spat. "Get in the house while the sheriff and I figure out what to do with them."

Tears welled. He was right - it wasn't until the man had seen Mark's limp that she'd intervened. "Mark, I'm sorry," she whispered.

He just held up a hand and shook his head like he didn't even want to speak to her. The humiliation seemed to burn too hot yet for him to listen to anything, so she took the ice and Charles and went into the house.

At dusk, the connecting door to the clinic creaked open and then closed. She stood at the stove making stew with the ingredients that neighbors had donated to get them by until the market opened tomorrow. Unsure whether to go to him, she stayed at the stove so he could make the decision.

Uneven footsteps and the tap of the makeshift cane echoed on the wood floor. It stopped just outside the kitchen, and she held her breath, willing him to come. "I'm home, Tanya," he said in a flat tone, but he didn't come in the kitchen.

When she walked out to greet him, he was already up the staircase two steps. He froze but didn't look her way, as if it was too humiliating having to struggle with the stairs in her presence.

Sometimes going out on a limb was the best way to reach someone. So, she walked up the steps and stopped at the one above him to be at eye level. Cupping his cheek, she tilted his head up to meet her eyes. So much shame glowed within him. "I'm going to stumble sometimes, but I don't see you as a cripple. I want to protect you like you want to protect me. When he saw your limp, yes, I was afraid. But not that you couldn't protect us. I was afraid that he would hit your leg and either severely damage it or shoot you once he had you down. It's a simple fact that your leg is a weakness, just like men being able to physically overpower me is mine. Yes, I realize now that going over to him was stupid, but you two were also just butting heads and making tempers rise. I'm not going to apologize for helping get us out of trouble. There's nothing wrong with me helping you or you helping me."

He gave a small nod and reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Those blue eyes searched hers. "I need brutal honesty, Tanya. I see others find fault because of my leg, and..." he hesitated, "I know you are not her, but Anna wouldn't have seen me as a man anymore. I know you don't see me that way, but..." He looked away.

"But you worry in what I do see differently because there must be something?"

With a small nod, he looked up with an intense gaze.

A soft sigh of defeat escaped. "I worry. I worry if you're traveling and break down in the winter that you'll have trouble walking for help before you freeze. I worry that a thief might think you're an easy target by bashing your leg and robbing you. I worry because it's a wife's job to worry. If it wasn't your leg, I'd worry about something else."

"It'd do well to say so, woman," he huffed, standing a little straighter and the shame fading from his eyes. "As your husband, it's my job to make sure you do not need to worry, and I'm to be privy to your stressors."

"Yes, Mark." She smiled. His confidence seemed to be restored back to his cranky old self.

He scowled and met her gaze straight on. "Are you pleased well in the bedchamber?" he snapped.

"Yes." She blinked at that blatant, out-of-nowhere question.

"Of course you are," he barked, although pride flashed through his eyes for an instant. "I shall wash for dinner." He swept past, not seeming to be ashamed anymore of having to labor up the steps in her presence. "What is it you fixed?" he barked without turning.

She looked at his back as he limped up one step at a time. "Beef stew."

"It smells good and I'm hungry," he barked.

A smile broke free. "Mark?"

He turned at the top of the stairs.

"I love you."

The man grunted. "I love you too. Your hand will be checked again before bed, no arguing." Then he disappeared.

After washing some old dishes found in the cupboard, she set the table. Charles laid in an old basinet on loan from the saloon owner's wife. Those beautiful blue eyes at birth that matched Mark's had gradually faded to gray - gray that looked like another's eyes from months ago. How odd to love someone so much who looked like the monster that hid in the shadows at night. Charles looked up and turned his head toward the blanket that brushed his cheek, as if needing to nurse again. Then he looked at her.

 _A hand around the throat. Being thrown on the floor and turned over. Skirts shoved up. Pain ripping a scream from her throat._

"Tanya?" A hand set on her back, searing into the memory.

Darting a step away in fright, her eyes flew to the intruder.

Mark. His eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?" Instant fight mode hardened his tone and his eyes darted around the room, as if searching for danger.

Setting a hand over her heart, she shook her head. "I was lost in thought."

His shoulders relaxed, but his gaze beelined to Charles. Then he glanced at her again. "You were frightened."

Shoving aside the terrible thoughts, she shook her head and grabbed a bowl to fill at the stove.

"He's in jail. I keep tabs once a month for confirmation."

The ladle fell from her hand into the pot. Her hands suddenly shook for some reason. Keeping the thoughts locked away in a dark corner would be best. Mark and Charles didn't need to ever know that his eyes frightened if her mind wandered. Picking up the ladle again, she swallowed back the tears.

"Sweetheart, tell me what you saw," he whispered and set a hand over hers.

The ladle dropped and the bowl crashed to the floor, shattering in a dozen shards. She stood not by the stove but several steps back in the corner of the small kitchen, not even remembering having moved. Terror. It was like insanity - terrified of the two males, family, who would never hurt her. All because they were that - male. Mark stood on one side of the table and Charles laid cooing on the other, blocking all escape. Irrational, consuming fear took over all reason. Sinking to the floor, she curled up her knees and covered her head with her arms in as small of a ball as possible. Fear. So much consuming terror that it was hard to even breath. Air. There was no air. Sobs erupted. Sobs that just took over her body as terror took over the mind, without any rational. Bit that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part was knowing Mark was safety and comfort, but this insanity feared his touch. Salvation was now damnation. Muscles hurt from trembling so hard. Shut it all out. The fear could be locked away if it couldn't escape. This madness of the mind slipping away would cease. Squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears, she rocked as a ball in the corner in agonizing desperation to find comfort. The only sound was her own sobs. Oh god, make it end.

When the sobs exhausted, a fragile sense of safety settled. As long as she kept her head buried in this small cocoon under her arms, the fear might stay away. Silence. No sound from Mark or Charles. A strange sense of peace at having space to not feel caged. But also a sense of abandonment. Her skirt and bodice were wet from tears, but the blackness of this cocoon calmed the terror too much to risk moving.

When she lifted her head a century later, Mark sat in the corner to the left on the floor, leaving a clear path straight ahead to escape. His eyes were red, as if he'd wept too. Not a muscle moved. For several minutes, he remained quiet, as if afraid of spooking her. Finally, he spoke in a soft tone. "Tanya, from this position, I cannot easily or quickly get up. You are not trapped and need not fear that I'll stop you." His voice flowed low and smooth and patient. Minutes passed, but he seemed in no hurry. Charles fussed, so Mark lifted him out of the basinet. The babe tried to nurse from Mark's chest, so Mark gave his smallest finger to suckle. Those blue eyes rose to her. "His eyes caused a flashback didn't they?"

She didn't respond. How he had derived that from such chaos was either mindreading or he had similar thoughts too.

"He's part of you, Tanya - physically and he has your stubbornness and intelligence. And he's part of me because I'm the one who will be there to raise and teach him how to be a good man. Looks are subjective and perspective. He looks like Charles - he's his own identity, own personality, own being. As he grows and is able to do more, it will become easier to see him as his own person rather than an extension of a nightmare."

She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the skirts. Laying her cheek on her knees, she tucked her arms in close helped stop the shaking that threatened to resume. "I love him, but when he looked at me, it wasn't him." Her lip quivered. "I'm scared of you both right now, and I don't know why."

His throat convulsed and tears welled in his eyes. "Perhaps because I'm the sexual threat. You never let yourself feel that fear that was trying to get out when we made love." He shifted only to move his leg, but it still caused panic to rise. It must've been noticed because he stilled mid-shift. "I won't harm you, Tanya. I will scoot closer."

He did but remained more than an arm's length away. A need to go to him battled with the need to run. Charles, however, fussed for dinner.

Mark looked at her, as if unsure what to do with a hungry babe who'd sent his mother into a meltdown. "If you express into a bowl, I can feed him."

A tiny wail of hunger broke free as Charles grew frustrated with Mark's finger that wouldn't feed.

Something about that cry of hunger shattered the fear. Maternal instincts took over to stop her son's pain. Scooting over to him, she took Charles. A blanket of safety cocooned from Mark, chasing away the fear and insanity. It was like an invisible barrier. If she moved away, that comfort wouldn't be close enough to feel. She looked up into his eyes. Home. This is where it felt safe, like he created an invisible fortress that kept out all terror and harm.

He didn't move or break eye contact.

This is why it had been so terrifying - because Mark had been too far away to shelter from the nightmares. Her lip quivered. Climbing into his lap like a child, she laid her head on his chest as she settled Charles to eat. She sniffled with fresh tears.

His arms slowly wrapped around and the weight of his cheek rested atop her head. "You're safe, sweetheart," he whispered. "Tell me what happened."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Not talking about it is what got us here. Come, you need to tell someone, if not me."

Charles finished nursing already. "It was a flashback, and you know the story. There's nothing else to say." Pulling her dress closed, she pushed herself up and took Charles upstairs without a backwards glance.

Mark entered the bedroom minutes after she'd put Charles on his pallet in the corner until a crib could be made.

"Take me from behind like he did."

He stopped in his tracks and his face bordered on stone-cold and angry. "I will not fucking torture you," he spat the words like some vial taste.

"It makes it less frightening - "

"No!" Charles startled and fussed, so Mark picked him up but those blue eyes remained furious. "Re-enacting them will do nothing but teach you that I'm as much of a monster! I can't even believe this!"

"I'm not asking you to beat and stab me! Why can't you understand that those memories need to be replaced?!" She ran a hand over her hair bun as the anger and stress grew.

He gave a hard look and then stormed to the other room with Charles asleep again in his arms. Then he returned and left the door cracked open. "If you want me to take you hard, that's as far as I go," he growled and unbuttoned his shirt. "I do not hold you down or grab your throat. What frightened you is the pain and helplessness. I may dominate, but you have all the control to stop it. You must do every step of this willingly. Undress."

There was something about removing her own clothes that gave a sense of control. She stood as bare as him.

"Come to me, and tell me to ready you," he ordered.

There was something safe about his dominance and yet care for her. It kept away fear. She walked over and held his eyes that focused so intently on any sign of fear that he looked powerful and commanding. "I'm ready."

He set her hand over his heart, seeming to remember that to feel his heartbeat is what kept her grounded from the terror. Then his hand dipped between her thighs. The beautiful eyes dilated and his nostrils flared as his body responded to her readiness. "Turn around, and tell me to take you," he growled, his voice husky and deep.

So she turned and hesitated. A split second later, he stepped closer so his chest pressed to her back. His heart thundered against her shoulder blade as he leaned down for the contact.

"I will not take you on the floor like some monster. Tell me to join your body," he whispered in her ear.

"Take me." She brought his hand up to cup her mangled breast, needing to feel his acceptance, and his other on her hip to hold her as tight as he needed.

"This is how I'll make love to you when you're swollen with my babe," he breathed in her ear.

That shattered all this had started about, and it became about love and Mark. Her head fell back the moment he joined her body and moaned himself.

"I need you so much it hurts, Tanya," he whispered. "Be still for a moment."

"I didn't expect pleasure like this," she panted, her body trembling on the edge.

"Oh god, I can't, Tanya. Tell me to have you." His fingers bit into her hip, and his body quivered with need for release.

Grabbing the bedpost for support to take his weight without the cane, she nodded. "Take me."

He was rough in a delicious, loving way, and her cry of ecstasy mingled with his less than a minute later. He didn't withdraw but instead pressed her down over the bed without leaving her body. His hand released her breast and stroked her throat. "You are mine, Tanya." Then he straightened, while still caressing her throat, and rocked his hips gently. "I have claimed you in all ways." He leaned down again and laced his fingers with hers. "I love you," he whispered in her ear and gently left her body. He laid down across the bed beside her, searching her eyes. "Are you frightened?" With his forefinger, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "I needed him washed away," she whispered and curled up in his arms.

"It is our wedding night. Now I will consummate our vows how I intended." He rolled on top and kissed with complete tenderness.

* * *

A knock came at the door a couple nights later. Mark got out of bed. "It's midnight. Stay here - hopefully it's someone who can be treated in the clinic." He pulled on his clothes and grabbed the makeshift cane. The connecting door to the clinic opened and closed a minute later. It must be an easy case in-house.

Huddling under the warm blankets, she glanced at the clock in the moonlight. He'd been gone a half hour. Maybe he needed help but couldn't leave the patient. Slipping on a dress, she lifted Charles in his bassinet and took him downstairs. Female sniffling filled the clinic, along with Mark's soft tones. Setting Charles just inside the storage room, she knocked in the doorway to the clinic. "Mark, do you need help?"

"That's my wife." Then his uneven footsteps came, and he appeared around the divider, his face very serious. "It's a woman whom I think her husband beat her. She claims she fell down the stairs. She's bleeding from what she says are menses, but I think he assaulted her. She won't let me check. It might be better for you to stay in the house with Charles - "

"Or maybe having a woman there who had survived it would make her feel safer." She swept past.

The woman, not much older than herself, sat on the exam table with a black eye and held a bloody rag to her swollen nose. Mark had already applied a cast to her wrist. The torn dress had blood spatters on the underskirt.

She stood back, understanding far too well the need to not be touched right now. "I'm Tanya. What's your name?"

"Mary." She sniffled.

"I wish you'd take this laudanum for your broken arm and nose pain," Mark said gently on his way over. "It's a half dose so you won't feel drugged, but it'll take the edge off." He seemed to understand the fear of not feeling in control right now.

The woman shook her head. "I just needed my arm set." She started to get up.

"I walked in on a home theft. He raped and thought he left me for dead. I gave birth to the babe a couple months ago." Strength came from nowhere to say those words out loud to a stranger for the first time.

The woman looked at her in horror and stilled. It was a moment of vulnerability, a single moment to gain this woman's trust.

Glancing to make sure the shutters were closed, she unbuttoned her dress and dropped it to the waist. "These scars are from the assault. I carry no bruises or cuts otherwise because my husband does not beat me." She pulled up the dress and lifted the skirt to her thighs. "He does not leave marks from the bedchamber because he is only gentle, as a husband should be."

"My husband didn't do this." But the woman wouldn't look her in the eye. "I fell down the stairs."

Going along with the lie might be the best way to at least get the injuries treated for now. "Did you let my husband check you over? A fall down the stairs can easily break ribs." She exchanged a glance with Mark.

When the woman wouldn't answer, he replied, "Are you uncomfortable to let me look?"

The woman didn't reply.

"Would you let me look?" Woman to woman would be less threatening.

At Mary's nod, he stepped into the storage room as she checked for bruises and cuts. A handprint bruise covered her buttocks. Red flecks of blood speckled her inner thighs, along with scratch marks.

She glanced at the woman. "I never had the help of a surgeon, and I healed so poorly that my husband had to cut and stitch so I could fit the babe. May I check under your skirt that you're alright?"

The woman gave a hesitant nod and let her peek.

"Alright. Let me ask my husband what else to check." She walked into the storage room where Mark paced near Charles, who still slept.

He stilled when she reported the findings, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Tanya, she needs an internal exam to see what he did - there's obviously damage being she has blood spatters. How would you feel about staying with her through an exam if she agreed?"

Looking down at her hands, she fidgeted with the skirts for a moment and looked up at him. "I want to, but I don't know if I can stay if she starts crying."

"I promise she will. Every woman I've ever examined who was assaulted cries because it's a reminder of what just happened, and she painful." He stroked her cheek. "You do not have to do this."

Biting her lip, she searched his eyes. "How many have you treated who were attacked?"

A deep sigh released through his nose that seemed to hold the weight of the world. "Well more than two dozen. Most were from their husbands, some were brothel women. Let me talk to her and see if she'll let me do an exam." He disappeared, his soft tones and gentle words filtering through the doorway. "Tanya!"

She stepped in.

Mark sat between the woman's legs while she appeared unconscious. "She agreed to sedation. Are you alright to help with surgery? I need you to apply light pressure on her belly - I think he perforated the birth canal." The moment she applied pressure, he cursed. "Stop. I don't know if I can goddamn reach to stitch without going in through her belly," he snapped in disgust and dropped a tool in a basin of hot water. He grabbed another tool. "Fucking bastards," he mumbled under his breath to himself as he tried to maneuver in the small space, "how about we jam rods up their dicks and - " He glanced up with wide eyes, seeming to remember her presence.

A giggle escaped. "I take it that it'd be wise for you to never meet her husband."

He gave a dark look and bent his head down to continue working. A string of curses under his breath and something about her own attacker strapped on a gynaecological table made her burst out laughing. The man glanced from the corner of his eye. "You weren't supposed to hear that, woman."

"I'll pretend I didn't," she smiled.

He kicked his chair away and worked to get on his good knee to get a different angle. "Press on her belly again...yes, there. Don't move." After a minute, he shook his head. "I can't reach without going in abdominally."

"Is it close enough that you could do an episiotomy to widen so you can reach?" She stepped around to look.

"No, but..."

"A tannaculum," she said at the same time as him.

"Yes, bringing the womb forward may pull forward the birth canal enough. Can you see if there's one in the storage room?"

After washing it and giving the woman more chloroform just in case, she knelt on the floor beside Mark.

"I'll bring it forward if you can hold it in place while I stitch." The poor man tried several times to get an angle.

"Mark, her belly looks a bit swollen." She frowned and palpated.

He popped his head up and felt it. Then he frowned and looked down again. "Pull her womb down a bit." Blood gushed out the moment she did. He dropped the tools. "Shit. Tanya, scrub for surgery - he must've perforated bowel too. She's hemorrhaging."

Mark moved so fast that his hands were packing dressing inside an incision while she finished washing. "Tanya, get over here! There's too much blood to see where it's coming from!"

She dove her hands in. "Stop." Closing her eyes, she focused. Slick blood flowed, warming her fingers. The current flowed stronger the deeper she went. There. It pulsed with a heartbeat. Grabbing the slimy tube, she pulled up. Intestines. Blood squirted into the air and onto the floor.

"Good girl." Mark whipped sutures in. Then he scooped out the gauzes and dumped them in the floor. "How much blood loss?"

Leaning over to look at the mess on the floor, she glanced at him. "Two pints?"

"Yes. Transfuse?"

"Yes." She turned to grab the supplies.

"Not until after surgery," he corrected and dug through more guts. "A female is anemic at two pints lost; a male can tolerate it. If we had another donor, then transfuse during surgery. Only transfuse from the surgeon in an emergency because of risk of overtransfusion and confusion on the surgeon's part. I didn't think to tell you that I checked her for signs of pregnancy before surgery. If with child, don't fully sedate - only enough for memory loss and pain-free surgery."

Her eyes flew to him. "Is that what you did to me with Charles?"

"No, the times you needed sedation to stop labor, you had to be put all the way under," he replied without looking up. "Have you heard of Dr. John Snow? He passed away less than a decade ago, and is considered the Father of Anesthesiology. He actually came up with how to administer chloroform without killing the patient - he delivered Queen Elizabeth's last two children using it to control the pain. Fascinating work - you should read his works. I haven't been brave enough to try it on birthing women. As soon as we have funds for frivolous things, I shall buy you an engagement ring, Charles some toys and then the latest _Lancet_ medical journal," he sighed whistfully and finally looked up.

A smile bloomed at his chattiness. "I imagine you agree that cholera stems from contaminated drinking water."

Those blue eyes lit up. "You _have_ read his works." He was up to his wrists in guts but seemed as happy as a clam.

She laughed. "How could I not when you had all of his articles earmarked in your library? I read several after I finished the medical textbooks."

"God save me, I want to take you right now. Your brain is like a sponge." His eyes dilated with desire, and then he looked down at the surgery. "Look at this." He pointed to tiny red dots on the bladder.

A frown tugged. "What is it?"

"This, my dear, is thought to be endometriosis - retrograde bleeding of the uterus during menstruation. It can cause severe pain. I've seen it in about half of women. Some complain of pain, others don't." He sighed. "I should've thought to ask her about pelvic pain while she was awake."

"Why? You can't scrape it off?"

"It's a painful recovery. If it's not bothering her, I wouldn't do anything. Well, as long as we've had to dig around in the poor thing, let's check. Hold the bladder." When she did, he stilled. "Oh boy. She has frozen pelvis."

She looked down. "What does that mean?"

"Adhesions have locked her uterus in place. Even if she should get pregnant, her womb wouldn't be able to stretch and would abort the babe. We'll need to heavily medicate her for a few days, but she'll feel so much better." He smiled and glanced up. "Here is real gynecological medicine, Tanya." He spent hours freeing reproductive organs and removing large spots of endometriosis behind the womb. The man had so much knowledge in his brain as he chatted the whole time that it was a wonder his head didn't explode from everything in there. He talked right until sunrise as he performed delicate surgery to remove adhesions that he found were even involving intestines.

After everything was washed, he sat beside the woman's bed in the infirmary and yawned.

"Come, you're exhausted. I need to be up anyways feeding Charles, so you go take a nap. She'll be out for awhile yet." She nudged him up from the chair.

"Watch her for a temperature and that her respirations remain normal. Get me if she stirs. I'll be back in a couple hours. Get me if you need to trade." He pecked a kiss on her head, locked the clinic front door and then shuffled to the house.

After only an hour, the woman whimpered.

"It's alright." She sat forward in the chair. "The physician had to do surgery to repair the injury. Are you in pain?" The chloroform should still have pain effect. The woman didn't feel hot with fever.

More moaning.

Holding Charles tight, she darted to the house. She stopped on the way upstairs - Mark slept on the sofa, the poor man probably too tired to climb the stairs with his leg. "Mark." Hurrying over, she touched his cheek. "Honey, she's waking up." No response. He must be dead tired. "Mark?" She shook his shoulder.

The man grunted and his eyes struggled to open. "Two hours already?" he slurred with sleep.

"No, honey, just an hour. She's moaning like she's waking up, but she can't tell me if there's pain."

Rubbing his eyes, he pushed himself up with his cane and stumbled a step.

"Are you alright?" She held his sleeve.

"Just tired." He slapped his own cheek lightly. "Alright, I'm awake." The poor thing yawned.

She smiled and followed him to the clinic.

"Mrs. Wolfe?" He felt the woman's brow and lifted her eyelids. No reaction besides a soft moan from the woman. "Can you squeeze my hand?" Mark sat on the edge of the bed and took both of her hands. "Would you get the stethoscope, Tanya?" When she brought it over, he listened to the woman's chest. "I think she's hallucinating from the chloroform," he frowned.

"Have you seen this before?"

"Yes, but not this late after surgery. Even when I wake you up from chloroform, you moan a little, but you have no response to pain." He gently palpated the woman's belly and didn't get any reaction. "She's not swollen and her bladder isn't full. Respirations are still at sedation levels, and she has normal pupil response." Sitting back, he ran a hand through his hair. "She was under five hours, correct?"

"Yes, maybe five-and-one-half hours"

"Possibly a reaction to long-term chloroform exposure, although she's not showing other signs of toxicity." He shook his head, as if completely baffled.

"Is it possible that she has pain but can't move?"

"She should regain movement before feeling."

Mark continued to talk to the woman and check for pain response for several minutes before she quieted again.

"Huh. Maybe she was hallucinating."

But he didn't look relieved. "I don't like this." For the fifth time, he listened to the woman's chest. "Her respirations are gradually decreasing. Look for smelling salts." He shot up and headed for the storage room. "I saw some in one of the cabinets above the counter. She might be going into respiratory distress."

The minute he administered the salts, the woman's eyelids fluttered but didn't open. "Mary, squeeze my hand," he ordered. A twitch but he continued until her eyes opened. "What's your name?"

She frowned. What an odd question.

"Mmmm..." The woman couldn't get the word out, although she seemed more conscious.

"Squeeze with your right hand." Both of her hands remained immobile. "Mary," he commanded. When the woman's eyes flicked to him, he frowned and scooted closer. "Blink twice."

The woman did.

"Are you in pain? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Two blinks.

"Can you feel any part of your body? Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Two blinks.

"Can you move anything?" He looked down from her head to toes. Nothing. "What about taking deeper breaths?" When the woman didn't, his brow furrowed. "I think you're sensitive to chloroform. Have you had it before?"

She blinked once for no.

"It'll wear off soon, and feeling and movement will gradually return. We're going to bundle you in blankets because it might help your body get rid of it faster with warmer blood circulation. Can you swallow?" He set his fingers to her throat. "It's still too weak to have you drink water to flush your system. The more deep breaths you can take as soon as you can, the faster it will get out."

Tears welled in the woman's eyes.

"No, no, don't cry. Within a half hour things will start coming back. I promise this is temporary." When the tears didn't slow, Mark looked to her with wide eyes.

Oh dear. The poor man didn't hold up well to female tears of distress. "Are you frightened?" She sat on the other side of the bed with Charles in her lap.

One blink.

"Do you feel ill or hurt?"

One blink.

"Everything will be fine. We'll get you healed up, and you'll feel so much better." Mark pulled out a clean handkerchief and dabbed the tears from the woman's cheeks. "Your insides were sticking together and had to be causing a lot of pain. Once you're healed, that pain won't be there. And we stitched up your injury. In about two weeks we'll remove those sutures, and in about six weeks you'll be as good as new."

It seemed like there should've been jealousy or hard feelings over his tenderness with another woman, but there was only admiration for the beauty of his kindness even with a stranger. He spoke so patiently and touched with absolute gentleness, like he understood how frightened the woman must be of men. This was a physician who truly listened to his patients, no matter how real or imaginary their concerns. It wasn't just his skill that would bring patients from miles to see him but his ability to see them beyond a textbook or experimental case. In a few years, he'd earn a renown reputation again. And it would be magnificent to watch him flourish.


	38. Chapter 38

She brought in a bowl of soup for lunch. Mark, who sat in a chair beside the bed, took it for the woman. Although movement had returned for the woman, so came the pain. Mark was diligent about dosing on time, even though it meant getting up a few times in the middle of the night to check on the woman.

"Here. Have something to eat so you don't get nausea from the laudanum." He spoonfed the woman.

Alright, that was a step too far. The woman wasn't in that much pain that she couldn't feed herself. She frowned upon noticing only a chemise covering the woman's shoulders. "Where is her dress?"

"When she was propped up, it was too tight over the incision," he replied and gave another spoonful.

"My ass it's too tight," she mumbled under her breath. It was an empire waist dress that gave ample room. Setting the glass of water on the stand beside the bed, she spun on her heel and went back to the house to give Charles lunch.

Sitting in an old rocking chair in the front room, she nursed the babe. Mark walked through the connecting door with a frown minutes later. "What has you in a dither, woman?"

"Oh, please. You could loosen the dress; she doesn't need it off!" she hissed so not to be overheard.

His eyes rolled. "This may come as a surprise, but I've seen dozens of women naked and not had a sexual thought about it. We hacked the woman open last night for Christ's sake. Of course a confining dress - "

"Don't curse, and her dress has an empire waist! And I didn't say _you_ had sexual thoughts," she huffed. "You're a handsome surgeon who is likely the first man in a long time to show her kindness - "

His eyebrows shot up. "Like you? Just because you got romantic notions in your head when I treated you doesn't mean all women are dense enough to throw themselves at a boarish man!" He threw up his arm in irritation.

Her jaw dropped. "I did not throw myself at you!"

The man had the gall to point a finger. "Even if she has infatuation, I'm wed to you, not her! She's in pain from surgery and was assaulted last night. I'd think you of all people would be compassionate. You're not stepping foot in this clinic until you calm down," he ordered and slammed the door as he returned to the woman.

Glancing down, Charles had fallen asleep, so she pulled up her dress and burped him. Oooh, the nerve of that man to say she was overreacting. An overreacting wife would've gotten upset when he'd delivered Sandy's babe or last night when he was doing an incredibly intimate exam on the woman. He was a good man and professional surgeon, but sometimes he could be as dense as a village idiot. She stood to burp Charles.

He stormed back in all the sudden and barely caught the door at the last minute to keep it from slamming. "I'm offended that you think I'd allow a woman to throw herself at me when I'm wed to you!" he snapped. "I made vows to you - "

"Ha! Days ago! You've been so busy seeing to everyone else that we never even had a wedding night! Wait, I haven't _thrown_ myself at you in the past few days!"

"We've already consummated," he spat between his teeth and kept his voice quiet.

"That's not the point! You're as dense as a box of rocks!"

That left him speechless.

"It doesn't bother me that you see women naked all day! I don't like that you're letting her manipulate you into a compromising situation! If I didn't trust you, I'd be angry as hell!" Alright, maybe this qualified as angry.

"Well, you should be!" he shouted.

"Why?!"

"Because she kissed me just now!' His chest heaved and he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly quiet now that he'd gotten it off his chest. "I didn't make advances or - "

She stepped over and set a hand on his chest to calm the distress. Fear glinted in his eyes - fear that she wouldn't believe him. "I know you wouldn't. But next time, believe me when I say a woman is making advances on you, Mark. You're intelligent, handsome and gentle - women are attracted, despite that you think you're such a brute."

"To be fair, she's doped up on morphine and probably doesn't know what she's doing," he growled and then limped into the kitchen. The man used a rag and washed his mouth, as if wishing to erase the memory. Then he leaned his hand on the counter, his other on the cane, and stared at the sink. " _I_ didn't kiss her, Tanya," he said quietly.

"I believe you." She frowned and shifted Charles to her other arm but stayed in the doorway to give him space. He took this so hard when he had nothing to feel guilty about. "Do you expect me to scream and kick you out? You look so worried." A slight laugh filled her voice - until he looked away. "It happened before, didn't it? And Anna got angry with you."

Pushing himself upright, he closed his eyes and released a deep sigh. "One of the brothel women gave birth and began finding excuses for medical exams. I didn't think anything of it until she called me for the third time for a suspected infection, and I still didn't find any signs of one. Anna hated that I even saw the women there, and she thought I was going so often for their 'services.' There was so much marital strain that I went to Africa for six months while she figured out if she wanted to move out. Things got better, but I don't think she ever really trusted me again after that."

"Then shame on her," she said quietly.

His eyes flew to her in confusion.

"You're a loyal man, but I think you're a bit naïve and soft with women. I understand that your profession puts you in situations where questions may be raised, but I also trust that you'll always be truthful with me. I can't say that I completely blame Anna's jealousy, but I can blame her for not trusting you in the end. If I can trust that you're always honest, I'll always be on your side. Now, tell me what happened that she kissed you." She sat down at the table and pushed a chair out for him to sit too.

* * *

After putting Charles to bed that evening, she peeked in the bedroom. Mark wasn't there. Perhaps he was checking on the woman before getting in some sleep before his next two-hour check. A soft golden glow came from the kitchen. He sat at the table with his head in his hands in defeat. "Mark? What's wrong?"

"I think she's psychotic," he said without emotion.

She blinked and patted over to the table. "Psychotic? Where's this coming from?"

He dropped his hands to stare at the table. "When the laudanum is due for the next dose, she is very quiet and frightened. Shortly after administering more, she becomes sexually aggressive and almost seems to not feel the surgical pain. Each dosing makes it worse. I've only read about one instance of similar behavior, and it was due to sexual abuse in a woman during childhood. It was only after a lobotomy that she became sedate." He said the last sentence with disgust.

"You do not believe in lobotomies?" She sat down.

"They are nothing more than a non-bloody way to make the brain scrambled eggs. Many patients die from lobotomies, and almost all have altered personalities afterwards. It's barbaric torture. As her attending, I'm obligated to prescribe psychiatric treatment; however, I can't bring myself to sentence any human being to torture. 'Psychiatric hospital' is just a pretty term for mental experimentation." He had such disgust for the conversation.

Setting a hand on his arm, she searched his profile. "You've never once mentioned what tortures they did to you," she said softly. "I know they are things you don't wish to remember, but there are moments when I see them haunt you."

"They are things that would make you afraid of me," he whispered and stared at the table.

"I've seen you in weak, strong, happy and trying times. I've seen the worst that you're capable of, and you do not hold a candle to what I've known. You once mentioned that you're more brash now than with Anna. Perhaps it is grief that changed you, but it has also crossed my mind that perhaps it was electrocution or lobotomy or their tortures that shifted your manner. But I do not fear you, Mark."

"And it would make you feel safe to be trapped alone in a house with a man twice your size on whom mental experiments occurred? Perhaps what they thought were treatments for madness created a madman." Those blue eyes shifted and bore into her.

She held his gaze without wavering. "The world has you so convinced that you're a beast that you're afraid for me because I don't believe it. A true madman cannot feel compassion or find reason in the throws of a temper. There's nothing dangerous about you." She stroked his whiskery cheek.

His eyes shifted to the table again. "I could count on one hand the number of times I raised my voice before Anna's death. I'm hard pressed to control my temper since..." His voice faded. "Most of the others became catatonic," he whispered, seeming lost in the memories. "You fear men, and yet you do not fear the one that could indeed be the most dangerous to you."

Stroking the tips of her fingers along the coarse beard on his cheek, she guided his head to meet her eyes. "Your temper isn't so fierce. Even if they did do something to it, I love you all the same." Then she stood and pressed his shoulder until he scooted his chair back. She sat in his lap, and he didn't stop her when she ran her hands through his hair. There. On each side of his temples were slight scars. Electrocution to the head.

"Dangerous enough for 'treatment' not just twice," he hissed. "You are safe? You trust your babe to be alone with this?"

She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Danger is only to those who would harm us," she whispered with the sting of tears behind her eyes. "You are where it feels safe when I'm scared of the world. They're wrong. There is no monster here. You're a good man. I trust you in ways that I know I won't ever trust anyone else." When his arms tightened around her, she pressed her cheek to his and cupped the back of his head. "What brought this on?" Perhaps seeing a psychiatric patient brought back memories and fears.

The man shook his head and continued speaking like she hadn't asked the question. "I don't know what to do about her." He laid his head on her shoulder. "I can't send her away, but I can't stop her husband from coming either, and he's obviously abusing her."

So much for him finally talking about what haunted him from the asylum. She sighed and held him close. "I don't know either."

* * *

A bone-chilling, muffled scream pulled her out of slumber.

She blinked in the darkness in confusion. It had sounded near but muffled like it was far away. The bed twitched. Rolling toward Mark, she reached out to wake him up to see where it was coming from. His chest was wet and hot. And then the scream came again - from him. Shooting upright, she shook his shoulder hard in the moonlight. The veins in his throat bulged with the force of his half-paralyzed scream of terror. "Mark!"

His eyes shot open and his chest heaved as he scrambled backwards against the headboard.

"It's just me. You were dreaming. It's alright," she cooed and guided his hand to feel her cheek. "It's just me."

His eyes darted around the room, as if confused and still terrified.

When he touched the scar at his temple, her heart shattered in a thousand heartbreaks all at once. "You're safe at home in America, Mark."

"Tanya?" His voice shook to a degree it never had before.

"I'm right here." She scooted closer.

He lifted her into his lap, his chest still heaving with fright that had yet to calm. His hands touched her hair and arms and legs through the nightdress, as if to assure himself that she was real. "You're not hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, and Charles is fine."

Then he touched her flat belly and nodded to himself like perhaps memories of the birth were returning. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, love. You screamed in your sleep, and I woke up. What frightened you?" An answer wasn't needed to know that he dreamed about the asylum.

"They dragged me in for another treatment," he whispered and buried his head against her neck. "I forgot how terrible the pain was."

Holding him tight, she swallowed hard. "There's no more pain or treatments or being locked up, sweetheart. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"What if I hurt you like I did Anna? What if they're right that I'm mad?"

"Look at me." She pulled back and cupped his face, her heart pounding hard. "Are you afraid that it will happen all over again here in America? That they're going to think you're insane? Look at me. You are not mad for trying to save Anna. Today's medicine did not work, and you did not do anything that she didn't consent to. She knew there were risks and it might not work.

"The ones who dream the unimaginable are said to be insane. But there is a fine line between insanity and genius. My dear, you are a genius. Your mind works in ways that have spat in the face of convention, and you have changed medicine singlehandedly. There are women and children alive solely because you imagined ways to do medicine differently in a chance to save them. You have a gift, Mark. Madness is to believe the impossible is attainable, but to attain the impossible is genius. My dear, the world wrote you off once as mad with your birthing theories, and you forever changed how obstetrics is practiced. Just because you tried to change oncology and failed does not mean they should call you mad. Let them, because one day you will be seen for the brilliant man you are."

"You are too naïve for your own good - "

She shook her head. "I simply see what others cannot yet, husband."

* * *

The woman grew worse the next day, forcing Mark to resort to tying her hands to the bed so she wouldn't tear open the incision with all of her movement and constant stripping off her clothes.

She stood at the foot of the bed as Mark fed the woman lunch nearing the time of the next pain medication. There weren't the overtures and pawing attempts at him like there'd been at breakfast. The woman seemed very...normal, although frightened. Fetching the laudanum for Mark to give again, she sighed. This was crazy... Her feet froze. Crazy. "Mark?" She looked down at the bottle and then across the room to him. "Psychosis."

"Beg your pardon?" He frowned.

"The laudanum must be causing psychosis. She's subdued when she's coming up on a dose."

"Nooo." He frowned and looked at the woman with skepticism. "It can cause hallucinations, but..."

"So why not psychotic breaks?" She walked over to him. "She's sensitive to chloroform, so maybe she reacts strongly to laudanum."

His lips pursed as he mulled it over. "Plausible theory. Mrs. Wolfe, let's try another pain control." He went into the storage room and returned with a purse-size bag of tiny sticks and a pestle and mortar. "This is willow bark, a remedy that your grandfather uses," he commented on his way past. "Mrs. Wolfe, this can either be chewed on or ground up to be ingested. It's not known to induce hallucinations or nausea or anything that other pain medications cause. We'll try a half stick and see how you feel."

"You don't know?" she whispered in his ear with raised eyebrows. How could he give a patient something he didn't understand?

He gave the woman a half stick to chew and instructions to not swallow the stick. Then he went into the storage room without a word. She followed. "Our parents grew up without much for pain control. This is Native American medicine and the only thing I know that won't make her heave with an incision or go batshit. Your grandfather said one or two sticks, so that's all I have to go on. If you have something better, say it or keep your peace."

Her eyebrows rose and she closed the door. "Don't jump down my throat because I question when you're experimenting on a patient."

"Half of what we do is experiment!" he hissed. "I didn't know how to do your surgery until I learned how _not_ to do it. Medicine is experimentation. I will not always have the answers, Tanya, and sometimes that's alright; other times it means patients will die. In a hundred years from now, this might be barbaric, but it's the best that we know right now. Don't jump down _my_ throat, woman. I will always do what I know to be safest for patients, but sometimes I'm backed into a corner. We either let her try this - when your grandfather has tried it on dozens of patients for years - or we let her writhe in pain from essentially a vivisection," he spat.

Pressing her lips together, she looked at him. "I'm never supposed to question you?"

"No! I want you to question me, but not in front of a patient! Surgeons have a hacksaw reputation as it is, and I don't need to be the new doc in town who is seen as incompetent," he snapped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." She picked up Charles in his bassinet and opened the door to the house.

He caught her arm, his voice a bit calmer. "I want to be challenged because that's how you'll learn and I'll learn to think outside the box. If you disagree with something, pull me aside."

She shook her head. "I am not educated enough to disagree with anything you say as a surgeon; I only ask questions to make sure you're thinking about all angles."

The man snorted. "You already know more than some surgeons who are little more than self-taught barbers. You always have a right to question me, just don't do it in front of a patient. I don't know any better than you how this will go, and I'm worried too how she'll do." Then he pressed a kiss to her brow. "It's a nice day out. There's no need for both of us to be cooped up in here. Go visit the neighbors and make some friends."

She glanced down at her dress. It was the better of two dresses, and she'd rushed into surgery with him the other night without a thought as to what she wore. Now it carried bloodstains. He'd feel terrible to know that she couldn't visit anyone because there wasn't money to buy a decent dress.

He dug in his pocket and handed over three coins. "The appendectomy patient was able to pay for surgery."

Her eyes flew to him. "Is that a payment?" It was barely enough to buy two meals.

Those blue eyes shifted away. "A surgeon only makes what patients can afford. He's arranged to give us two bags of corn at harvest this Fall for the remaining payment."

Even that had to be well below what a surgeon's bill should be.

"Word is there's a railway being built our way. The men are said to be a day's ride from here. A good surgeon is always needed when railroads are being built. They'll be closer in a couple days, and then I'll ride out and bring back a paycheck." He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"You're a bad liar," she said softly and touched his cheek. "I've heard stories of men dying working the railroad. Your leg can't take standing all day to swing a hammer anyways. You'll stay right here. We landed this house, so luck is out there. We just need to ride this out on a prayer until we find our fourleaf clover." She looked down at the three precious coins in her hand. Patients had agreed to pay once a week, and this wasn't enough to buy food to get by for today and tomorrow. "Are you hungry for lunch? You didn't eat breakfast." She looked up at him. Food would help him feel better, like things weren't so bleak. All that was left from the neighbors' generosity was the leftover stew on the stove - all that was left of food in the house. Today was payday, and it was less than a church mouse would find.

"I'm not that hungry today. You should eat lunch so you can keep up with Charles's meals." He turned to go.

Tears burned. He wasn't eating again so she would have dinner for tonight. "I know what it's like to go hungry, and I won't watch you do it."

Heartbreak filled his eyes when he turned. "I'm just not hungry," he lied. "I didn't realize that America would be this hard. This isn't the life I wanted for you or Charles."

"These are the times that make us stronger because we have nothing but each other. The darkest nights are always before the sun comes." Raising onto her toes, she kissed his cheek.

She ate lunch and fed Charles. Upstairs in the bedroom, she stood at the cracked mirror on the wall and brushed her hair. It came down to her waist and was far too hot in the summers. Putting it up every day got old, and it required Mark's help to rinse it in the tub.

* * *

This damn textbook from the storage room was far too old to be of any use. Pulling off a pair of spectacles found in the clinic that served well enough as reading glasses, he frowned. Mrs. Wolfe seemed to do very well on just the bark and very low doses of the laudanum. Perhaps Tanya was onto something about psychosis. It would be interesting to publish the report and see if other physicians reported similar findings. He glanced out the window at the sunset. Tanya had gone down the road to the mercantile and was well past due.

A woman came down the dirt road in a lovely blue dress made for work, but it somehow clung seductively to her curves. Shoving his nose in the book, he shifted uncomfortably. It'd been too goddamn long without Tanya warming his bed. His gaze flicked up to the woman heading this way. Her brown hair a bit past shoulder length blew in the early spring breeze. She carried a small bundle. Dear god, it was erotic seeing a woman's hair down and blowing like that. A pretty creature indeed. Clearing his throat, he shoved his nose in the book. It wasn't right to look at another woman like that. Her husband shouldn't let her out of the house looking like that. His eyes were drawn to her again. She was headed this way. Jesus Christ, his blood never got this hot over a patient. It wasn't decent or professional. Would serve him right if Tanya stayed out of his bed for a year. Turning the chair from the window, he forced himself to mumble the next sentence of the book.

His ears perked up as she drew close enough to make footsteps over the dry dirt road. A quick glance. His heart sped up. She was coming to the clinic. Shit. Dear god, she was beautiful and caused an insane need to tear off her dress. Dammit, he had to confess these impure thoughts to Tanya - it was practically like adultery. Such a beautiful olive complexion and willowy figure... His eyes narrowed. Willowy. "What the fuck?!"

Shooting out of the chair, he darted for the clinic front door that shared a porch with the house. "What the hell did you do?!"

Tanya whirled in surprise at the cabin front door. "Oh, you scared me!"

"Get in the house." He grabbed her arm and shoved her inside, closing it as fast as possible. "What the hell do you think you're doing going around town like that?"

She blinked, her eyes wide in confusion. She touched her hair. "Does it look that bad?"

He eased the sleeping babe from her arms and set him in his bassinet next to the rocking chair. "I was feeling goddamn guilty for wanting to tear clothes off the woman walking down the street, and it's _you_?! You're not leaving this house with that dress and your hair down!" He unbuttoned his pants.

She had the gall to giggle. "You like it?"

"Like it," he muttered and backed her up against the wall. "About damn ready to shoot myself to end the misery." He lifted her skirts.

"Ooh, you can't even wait for the bedroom?" Her eyes glittered like she thoroughly enjoyed this. The chit set her delicate hands on his shoulders as he lifted her onto his hips.

"You're lucky I made it long enough to put the babe down," he growled.

"Seeing you want me makes me want you," she smiled and bit her lower lip, with those big brown eyes looking up from under her lashes.

A curse and he couldn't wait any longer.

She still trembled as he set her down seconds later, holding his bicep for support.

He pulled down her skirts and couldn't fully contain the grin that pulled up one side of his mouth as he buttoned his pants.

"I should cut my hair more often," she panted and smoothed down the tangles he'd made running his hands through those silky locks.

"Do that, and I promise a gaggle of children will result," he grunted. Then he gave her bottom a swat through the skirts. "That's for disobeying. I told you once to never cut your hair," he scowled.

"My dear, you must learn when punishment encourages versus inhibits." She set her hands on his chest and smiled up in a way that made his damn heart skip a beat. "We have funds to last two or three weeks. And since you refuse to let me work, I had to resort to what I had." She fluffed her hair and walked toward the kitchen.

Something about that fluff ignited his blood. "I'm not finished with you, woman."

She smiled over her shoulder. "You are, husband. Your patient needs tending." The wench set a fat purse on the table. "I'm going to the mercantile. I expect my burly husband there in twenty minutes to carry food home."

He opened his mouth to protest again about not being finished.

"I should like a bath tonight, husband." She purred it in that way she must know drove him crazy.

Storming over with a purpose, he leaned his hands against the wall in each side of her head, letting the makeshift cane dangle from his hand. The brat folded her hands behind her back and looked up with those innocent chocolate eyes. "You enjoy seeing me like this, woman?"

"Like what?" she asked with feigned innocence.

Two could play at this game. Snatching her hand, he cupped it against where he ached. Only it backfired and made his eyes roll back in pleasure. Dear god, her small size was deceiving for her power. "This, goddammit," he hissed between his teeth. It took every ounce of willpower to not have her again.

"Yes, Mark."

His eyes flew open. She smiled like she found it funny! His mouth crushed down on hers with raw desire. "Don't sass me, wench," he breathed between kisses. The way she clung during kisses like this left behind all insecurities of being crippled or too brash or unable to provide enough. She made it so easy to feel powerful and masculine and strong in her arms. Desire throbbed like a crazed addiction to have her. "Are you sore?" he panted and nipped her bottom lip. Dear god, his heart could pound right through into her chest. She was so soft and had delicate curves in just the right places.

"No," she breathed, completely melting in his arms. "Take me again."

His head fell back as he sank in. She moaned and held on tight, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "It drives me mad when you scratch my back," he sighed, relishing the frenzy building in his blood.

"I don't mean to," she whimpered with need and squirmed in his arms.

"It tells me how much I've pleased you," he rumbled deep in his chest and let the words brush his lips against hers.

"Take me," she panted.

He smiled and would have to remember to thank God for a wife who embraced passion.

* * *

She glanced at his back again when getting ready for a bath that night. He faced away toward the fire warming the sitting room as he pulled off his pants, leaving his bare back exposed. Long nailtracks from this afternoon streaked his upper back. The poor man must hurt. But, sweet heaven, this afternoon had been a fire of passion she'd never known.

He turned with his cane and gave a devilish smile. It wasn't often that there was a chance to admire him like this in firelight. The orange glow caught the faint scars on his belly from the coyote attack and the terrible map of lines on his knee that was a bit swollen always. Wounds he bore to keep her and a babe that wasn't from his loins safe. What had she ever done to deserve him?

"Tanya?" His brow furrowed in concern. "Why are you crying?"

Touching her cheek, her fingers came away wet. Shaking her head, she smiled. "Just happy," she whispered.

His heart melted in his eyes, and he limped over. A soft smile touched his lips as he brushed away the tears with his thumb. "You are far too easy to please, wife," he said in husky tones. "You should be in tears about selling your hair, being poor, having a husband whose profession earns no money..." He stroked her cheek and kissed her lips. "I love you."

"I love you too." A flush of embarrassment crept up. "Does your back hurt?"

"Got me good, huh?" The man sounded far too pleased and even winked.

Her face burned, and she took a step back. The wretch did dangerous things to her heart on the rare occasions he winked. "You are a rake. Get in the tub."

The poor man looked embarrassed as he struggled to get in with his leg. She kissed his cheek once he settled in the water and climbed in herself to recline in his lap. "Standing for surgery seems to make it worse, doesn't it?" Taking his leg, she propped it on the edge of the tub and gave a very soft massage to help drain the swelling.

He sighed. "It does. Next I won't be able to do that either, and we'll be begging on the streets."

"Oh now, we will figure things out. Perhaps if we prop it up at lunch for a bit each day it will help. I'll rub it - "

But the man pulled her hands away and laced his with hers over her belly. "Enough to about my ailment, woman," he growled and rested his cheek against her ear, "It makes me feel like an old man." He stroked her belly. "We should talk about ways to prevent another babe." His hand traveled up and caressed her breast. When she hissed in a breath, he jerked his hand away. "It hurts?"

"I think it's mastitis coming on. It's just been the last couple days."

"May I - "

"No, you may not check." She rolled her eyes. "Every time I have a twinge doesn't mean I have cancer."

"I didn't say to check for cancer," he replied patiently. "You're a bit testy lately." His body tensed. "Have you been tired?"

"Of course I'm tired. We were up doing surgery all night just a few days ago." She closed her eyes and rested against his chest. "Just enjoy the hot bath."

"Have you been nauseous?"

"No, I've been starving..." When his hand drifted down to cup her lower belly, her eyes flew open. Oh goodness. "Why? You think there's a babe?" Her heart beat faster with hope. She sat up and turned sideways in his lap to look at him.

His eyes fixed on her belly, but he didn't look happy. And her heart broke. "It should be too soon. Charles isn't even three months. Perhaps it's just your body adjusting yet from childbirth."

This wasn't how he was supposed to react to the possibility of another babe on the way. It meant more pressure on him to put even more food on the table, another dress to be bought to accommodate a growing belly, more helping around the house and with Charles if extreme nausea came again with pregnnacy, him having to take on more of surgeries himself or figure out how to hire a new nurse who wasn't with child to run on midnight calls. It meant another burden rather than joy. She got out of the tub.

"Where are you going?" He reached out to catch her arm but was too late.

She wrapped a towel around and turned to face him, not even sure what to say. "I'm sorry." Guilt made tears well.

"Whatever for?" His brow snapped together. "I'm just as much responsible for a babe. More because I told you that we didn't need protection yet. Get in here," he barked.

A single step closer was all the courage that could be mustered. It was her fault, just like Papa said everything was always her fault. If her body acted like it should, there wouldn't be a babe possibly coming.

He reached up and yanked off the towel, grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap again. Those strong arms locked around and prevented escape. "There is nothing to be sorry for, woman. We don't even know if there's a babe. If so, I will have everything figured out by the time of the birth. I'm not angry, I'm just worried," he snapped. "Your body needs time to heal from childbirth. After the bath, I'll examine you to see if you're with child."

"Can you check now?"

He got in the tub again a few minutes later, and she took his proffered hand to get in. She curled up in his lap, somewhat relieved but also sad. "Are you glad?"

"Yes, because right now we financially aren't in a position for another mouth. But part of me was excited," he said quietly. "I wish to have a babe with you. Sometimes I very much miss you being with child."

"I miss it too."

A knock came at the door. "For crying out loud," he grumbled. "This had better be good because I was looking forward to more sex." He slid out from behind her.

She giggled and took his hand as he helped her out. "You're worried about a babe but not about ceasing until we figure out birth control?"

He shrugged and wrapped her in a towel before pulling on pants with her help. Then he shooed her upstairs.

Talking came from downstairs for less than a minute before the door closed. "Tanya! I'll be back in a bit," he called.

She peeked down the stairs to see him at the bottom. "What is it?"

A deep sigh. "Syphilis. Sounds like he's about ready to go, but he's in extreme pain. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Do you - "

"No, you're staying here. God knows we don't need both of us exposed."

Trotting down the stairs in her towel, she stopped on the bottom step and pecked a kiss on his lips. "Be careful."

* * *

"Mark?" She gently shook his shoulder only a couple hours after he arrived home at sunrise. "Honey, there's a man downstairs with gout who needs you."

A steady stream of patients continued for the next few days, as if the town and surrounding villages hadn't seen a surgeon in years. Sometimes Mark was gone from dusk to dawn, coming home just long enough to crawl into bed.

"Honey, you must eat dinner so you keep up your strength."

His chin rested on his chest, apparently asleep at the table even though he'd just sat down. He slowly slouched forward, jerking awake just as she caught him from falling into his stew. "God, Tanya, I'm so tired." His voice quivered like he was on the verge of tears.

Draping an arm around his shoulders, she kissed his cheek. "Let's tuck you in bed. I'll bring up dinner." Leading the way up the steps, she carried the bowl and Charles.

He got in bed and then held Charles. "I haven't seen him in three days. He's gotten so big." Tears welled in his eyes.

"Oh now, you're just overtired. He hasn't grown in three days." She gave Mark a spoonful of stew.

Charles laid on Mark's chest and barely raised his head up to look at his father. "Oh, my boy, look at you. Is that his first time?" Mark looked at her with such hope.

Thankfully, it was. "You're here for his first time," she smiled.

It pushed the dear man over the edge and his lip quivered as he cradled the babe.

Perhaps sleep was needed more than food. "Let's go to sleep," she cooed and reached for Charles.

"No, let him stay." He laid down and cradled Charles against his side on the middle of the bed.

Before she could even reply, Mark was fast asleep. Slipping Charles out so he wouldn't be smothered, she kissed Mark's cheek. Charles fussed. "Love, we must let Papa sleep so he doesn't get sick. Let's go get your dinner and have a bath."

* * *

A stroke of pleasure caused a sleepy sigh as she became dimly aware of morning. Soft massage to her scarred breast eased away the ache of mastitis that refused to come or go. A soft moan released, and she drifted on the edge of consciousness in the most relaxed state. Warm lips pressed to her belly.

"Let me make love to you," he whispered. After a throaty sigh of agreement, her back arched and met him in a beautiful dance.

As her heart still thundered afterwards, he didn't pull free but instead rolled so she was on his chest. And he cradled her head and seemed content to leave their bodies joined. "I've missed you," he whispered.

Caressing her fingers over his chest, she stared at the wall. "I've missed you too. What happened that you're so sad?"

His fingers stilled in stroking her hair, as if he hadn't expected her to pick up on his sadness. "There was a woman about five miles south yesterday. She had to be about our age. I believe she had botulism, for which there's nothing to do but pray the body can defeat it. She died not long after I arrived, and I had to explain to the husband why I couldn't do anything and their four children would be motherless. On the way home, I ran into a man whose daughter is suffering pneumonia. He's bringing her to the clinic today. It sounds like she won't make it the week either. Sometimes I don't know why I do this," he sighed in hopelessness.

Pushing up on his chest, she met his sad eyes. "You do this because you're gifted. For every life you've lost, you've saved at least three." Running a hand through his hair, she traced his lips with her other hand. "You aren't God," she said softly. "When you have moments of despair and need a prayer, it's alright to let me carry you."

He guided her head down to his shoulder and held on tight, as if he needed strength. When Charles fussed from the nursery, Mark eased her to the side. "Let me get him." Then he pulled on pants and limped into the nursery with the walking stick.

Charles's cries eased but didn't cease, and Mark didn't return with him. She pulled on a nightdress and padded into the nursery.

Mark cradled his son in the crook of his arm and stroked the little belly. He braced himself against the dresser like it kept his knee from giving out, and he swayed as he hummed a soft lullaby. It was a tender scene, except for Charles's cry of pain.

"Why does he hurt?" She crossed the room to them.

With a glance up, Mark shook his head. "I think he has a bit of colic - his stomach is a bit distended. Perhaps the beans you had last night didn't agree with him."

She took Charles and sat on the bed to nurse him. "Sometimes he settles if he can just do this. He doesn't always nurse, but it seems to comfort him."

He sat beside her and looked at Charles, who took to the breast but didn't actually suckle. The man wiped a tear from the tiny cheek. "Has he been colicky other days this week?"

"Yesterday, but only enough to fuss for a bit. I think he has a touch of something."

"Let me check him. I'll fetch my bag."

Returning a few minutes later, he started with Charles's ears. The babe fussed as he checked the right ear. "Oh, my boy, you have a nasty infection. Let me check the other and see if he needs surgery on that one too."

"Surgery?!" She bolted away and held Charles close, letting him suckle to still his cries. Horror widened her eyes. "He's a babe! You're not doing surgery!"

Oh dear. Of course Tanya would protect her children like a lioness. "One drop of laudanum on his tongue to make him sleep and a tiny puncture through the ear drum to release the infection - "

"What?! You'll make him deaf!"

" _You'll_ make us all deaf with your screeching. I promise he won't go deaf. A physician in 1801 proved that. I've done it in children before, and they were fine. If we don't release the infection, it will cause deafness and can even cause a brain infection." He held out a hand. "Come, I'm not going to harm him. We can even do it right here."

"How many times have you done this?" She didn't move.

A smile threatened. "Forty-seven. In Africa, many of the orphanages had never seen a physician. A couple of the children were deaf from infection but regained their hearing within a couple days of surgery. I would not do it on our son unless I knew what I was doing." When she looked down at the babe in concern, his heart twisted for her. "I promise he'll be alright."

"Have you ever done it on an infant?"

"On a child about a month older than him - " That had been the wrong thing to say.

"No." She turned to put her body between him and the babe.

He sighed and limped over. "Tanya, he will go deaf. It could spread to his brain or other ear."

Tears welled in her eyes. "He's just a babe."

"My babe too." He set a hand on her back. "I'm not going to propose something that could harm him. He suckles without eating because he's trying to find comfort, and it very likely hurts him to swallow with how swollen his eardrum is. He's going hungry, Tanya."

Her tears fell, and she gave a slow nod as she gazed down at her son.

"Love, he'll be asleep and feel so much better when he wakes up," he said minutes later when she still sniffled. "It's harder on you than him. And it's not good to teach him to need your breast for comfort - " His words died off when she glared. Perhaps a battle better to not pick with the lioness today.

"He's a babe and hurts. He can have my breast if he wants." She finally took him off and laid him on the bed.

The poor thing burst into tears and reached for her hovering near on his other side.

"Son, you can have Mama in a moment." He slipped his little finger into Charles's mouth so suck the laudanum that he'd dipped his finger in. The poor babe burst into sobs at the terrible taste and turned his head toward Tanya. His little face turned red with screams of distress that likely exacerbated his ear pain and made him scream more.

She snatched him up and took him right to her breast again. "Shhh, it's alright, love. Don't cry. Don't cry." She cradled and pressed a kiss to his hair.

He knelt on the other side of the bed, the guilt of being a beast torturing a babe rising up. He swallowed hard. It wasn't like it was enjoyable making his son sob and scream to be taken away, or Tanya feeling like she needed to rescue their son from him and weep on behalf of the babe.

When she looked up, she reached across the bed and brushed his cheek. "I know he needs it. I just don't want him hurting." It was a bit of a balm to the guilt.

Charles quieted minutes later, and then his eyes drifted shut in sleep. When she laid him on the bed between them, he picked up the tools. "Hold his head still just in case. If he moves, he could go deaf.

Seconds later, he turned Charles's head and laid out a rag to catch draining infection as he checked the other side again. "Only the one ear." Then he turned his head again and cleaned out the bit of infection that had leaked. "His ear cannot get water in it from baths until it's healed. I'll put in a bit of cotton to keep the infection from draining out. We'll change it three times a day these first two days and then twice after. In two weeks he should be healed."

Her hand caught his when he finished. "Thank you. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just...he's just a babe. I've never heard of surgery on an infant, and it scared me."

He nodded and patted her hand. "Most mothers react the same way. I know it takes a lot of trust to hand over a babe for surgery. He'll be alright now."

She picked up Charles even though he still slept, and cracked a smile. "You think I'm a hovering mother."

A smile threatened. "I'd have no one else watch over my children." Then he pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the babe's lungs and belly. "He's sound and should feel better when he wakes up. There might be a little nausea from the laudanum, so don't be alarmed if he doesn't want to nurse for a bit. His appetite should be back in a few hours."

"Mark?" She kept her eyes focused on the babe. "Will you always be gone this much as a surgeon?" Even though the woman kept her voice strong, a slight quiver slipped in.

"My hope is this is because the town hasn't seen a good physician in a long while. It should settle down soon." Homesickness had inched in the past couple days being away from her and the babe so much. Funny how homesickness hadn't ever hit with Anna until a week or two away. The chit was turning him into a sentimental woman. "Should you or the babe need medical attention, you're not to ride it out or take care of it yourself," he barked. "You're to tell me, and I will triage which patient is most urgent to attend to next, understood?"

"How should I reach you if there's an emergency and you're on the road all day? At some point a patient will show up at the clinic or Charles or I will need you when you're out."

That did pose a problem. "I'll always tell you where my first stop is, and I'll check in midday. I'm trying to drive patients to go to the clinic, but some are too ill to leave home. Now, go see to breakfast while I see to our son," he huffed and held his arms out. "I've held him less than an hour each day this week."

She smiled and gave up Charles. "Most men hold their children less than that in a week." Mark looked quite perfect with a tiny babe in his arms.

"You should've wed someone else then," he growled without any bite behind it. His gaze remained on Charles as he stroked the soft cheek with the back of his finger.

"You're a good father, Mark," she said quietly from the doorway.

Those blue eyes flicked up like the comment caught him off-guard. He looked away. It hurt a bit seeing him not know what to do with a compliment like that. The man cleared his throat, as he was want to do when uncomfortable with sentimentality. "Nannies raised me more than anyone," he huffed, "seeing as my father forbid my mother to do such commoner's work as raise children. I'm no more good with children than I am with being a civilized gentleman." But then his voice softened a bit and grew very quiet. "For never having a mother, you're damn good at it. I learn from you what it means to be a loving parent." His eyes locked with hers for a vulnerable, intimate second.

A lump rose in her throat at the simple, yet very tender words.

"Go before you make me blubber like an old woman," he ordered in his brisk tone again.

"Yes, Mark," she said quietly with a smile and turned to go. At the last moment, she turned around as his eyes returned to the babe. "It's you who taught me how to love, Mark."

He didn't look up, but his lips pressed together like those words pulled hard at his heartstrings.


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I love it when readers say it feels like they're reading published work! :D**

 **There's one review that came in that I wanted to clear up. Mark's reaction to Tanya questioning him in the previous chapter is based on two things that must be understood: even in today's world, staff does NOT question a physician in front of a patient. The physician is pulled aside and questioned for reasons that Mark stated - being seen as incompetent. It's an unspoken rule that Tanya didn't understand. Also, the story is in a time when men ruled everything, so his response wasn't offensive to her but acceptable for the times.**

 **Regarding him telling her to not return to the clinic, that was about his self-esteem misplaced. He's so convinced that he's a monster after everything that's happened with leaving England that he doesn't believe a woman could have a crush on him. It's more his backlash out of self-consciousness that he reacted and said it was Tanya who was overreacting. Tanya understands him well enough that she only took offense that he said she was overreacting, not his abrasive manner. We see Mark's stress building with worry about finances, patient load, etc., so he exploded a bit. After that, we see him past the point of anger to having a meltdown due to his exhaustion. It's strain that's getting to him, and we saw Tanya recognize it in the previous chapter. We see her starting to have a hard time too when she asks if he'll always be away from home so much. It'll pull together more with this next chapter. :)**

* * *

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do," she said in shame a few nights later in the clinic.

"Tanya, it's fine," he replied, his tone a bit hard as he started surgery by lantern light.

She knew better than to leave an infected bullet wound alone until Mark returned from patient calls. Now the man had been pulled under by a fever, leaving Mark to do surgery on an unstable patient. Mopping away more pus so Mark could see the site, she carefully approached the topic that had been nagging the past few days. "There's enough patient load for you to bring on a partner surgeon."

He snorted. "And not enough money to go around for even us. No." The man dug deep into the thigh muscle with forceps.

"You need someone here who can hold down the clinic when you're out on a call," she said quietly.

His eyes flicked up to glare beneath his brow. "I haven't slept in twenty-seven hours. I won't be held accountable for responses to such idiotic comments," he growled, keeping his voice low for Mary, who still resided in the infirmary. "There's no reason why you couldn't have done this."

Her eyes popped. "You're blaming me for not doing a surgery that I've never even _seen_ done?"

The man scowled. "I'm saying that you have more brains in your finger than some surgeons do in their bodies. Should a man come to the clinic in dire need of medical care and I'm not around, you get his permission to treat him as best as possible as a non-surgeon until I can arrive. You're goddamn good at what you do and don't need me around telling you what you already know." He dropped his head back and released a deep sigh. Then his eyes returned to the surgery. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. It's not your responsibility to fill in for me. We're running out of stock of supplies for the clinic, and there are no funds to replenish or buy us food. I'm goddamn tired all the time, and don't like leaving you and Charles alone so much. I thought I could do this, but I can't. I'll put the clinic up for sale, and we'll see what kind of employment I can find in a bigger town."

"Mark?"

His eyes met hers across the table.

"You need to be patient and stop stressing so much. Rome wasn't built in a day. We can't just plop down somewhere in America and start thriving. I can get work to help us get by. In a few more months, your reputation will have spread, and money will follow. You need to get out to meet some other physicians who will refer patients to you for your expertise. All work and no play is not good for you."

He sighed and kept his eyes on extracting the bullet. "I know I'm difficult," he growled. "I would miss working with you," he grunted. "You absorb everything and often have an instinct to know what to do even before I say it. You know when to tell me that I'm being an arse, or you have an idea of how to do something better. We work like clockwork, and I don't want to bring in another surgeon because it would mean not working as intimately with you," he huffed, as if self-conscious with the vulnerability of that confession.

A smile tugged. "I would miss working with you too. You're a good teacher, and your temper doesn't bother me. Most of the time." That earned a sheepish look from him. "I like medicine, and I think you're a rarity in that you treat me as a capable student. Not many surgeons would take a female seriously."

The man scowled. "Should you ever decide to become a surgeon, I'll make room for you here. You would have your own cases, and I would stand in as your nurse should you need assistance." To anyone else, it would have come across as a command rather than an offer.

Her eyebrows rose as that generous offer. It was an offer that any surgeon dreamed of - and much more. "You would be my nurse?"

He grunted. "On your cases, you would call the shots. I would discuss if I disagreed, but it's ultimately your decision."

"I'm not sure what to say. That's a wonderful offer, but I fear if I should become a surgeon, your practice would suffer having a female physician. It's a very radical notion that I'm not sure Society is ready for. If not for that, I would accept in a heartbeat." She held out a bowl for him to drop the bullet in and traded him the forceps for packing gauze to debried the wound.

"It would take time, but your skill would come to override any prejudices. The offer always stands." He glanced at her from beneath his brow.

Her heart melted. "Thank you, Mark. I would like that very much should I become a surgeon."

He cleared his throat and growled, "Don't give me moon eyes like that. Any surgeon would be lucky to have you or should consider himself a moron," he snapped.

A blush rose and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. His overtired crankiness was somehow endearing. "Yes, Mark."

An irritated expression marred his features, but he kept his eyes on his work as he barked, "Don't say my name like that unless you wish for another brat running around in nine months."

That won a smile and made her heart skip a beat. Even worn to the bone and up to her elbows in blood, he still found her desirable. "Yes, cuddle bear," she whispered in shyness and dropped her eyes the moment his eyebrow snapped up and he threw a dark look. Her heart stumbled with the raw desire that crackled in his eyes, fueled so perfectly with irritation. Dear heaven, he looked so masculine and powerful when he was in one of his moods and sexual tension was high.

The clinic door burst open, making her jump as hard as Mark. A burly man stood there with a gun aimed at her. "Where is she?!" he screamed.

Without missing a beat, Mark whirled and slammed a fist into the man's jaw, dropping the intruder like a ton of bricks and somehow catching the gun before it even hit the ground. "Don't you ever aim a goddamn gun at my wife!" he roared and pointed the gun at the man.

She blinked. Her heart started beating again, and she stepped away from the surgery table to Mark. "As breathtaking as your chivalry is, it's best not to add another patient to the list." She eased Mark's arm down. Poor Mark's nerves were so frayed the past weeks. Then she looked at the man on the floor. "Who are you looking for?"

"My wife! I've been looking over a week for that bitch!"

Mark's arm tensed under her hand.

Mrs. Wolfe whimpered from behind the curtain.

"You have her here?!" The man surged to his feet. "I'll teach you a damn lesson you won't forget for running away, whore!"

Before she had a chance to react, a gun fired.

The man froze.

Her eyes flew to the hole in the floor at the husband's feet.

Mark looked ready to shoot the man himself. "Leave."

"She's my wife!"

"She's my patient!" he roared, the veins in his neck bulging. "Until I say it's not life-threatening for her leave, she's legally my charge! Get a court order before you step in my clinic again! Get out!" Oh dear. Mark seemed at breaking point.

"You are - "

"Law twenty-one, section-three! Get out!"

The man must've sensed Mark's finger twitching because he took off.

"Mark, you were brilliant! I didn't know there was such a law." She kissed him, mindful of not getting her bloody hands all over him.

"There isn't. Hurry up. We need to finish surgery and find the sheriff before he realizes I lied." The poor man looked so exhausted.

The husband thankfully didn't return, and Mrs. Wolfe went to her sister's home north a few days later.

* * *

Mark answered the knock on the door one morning as she came out of the kitchen with Charles.

"I heard this is the new physician's residence." Brigands and his wife stood there with big smiles.

Mark stepped forward and gave Brigands a long hug. The older man stood there stiff in shock. Teresa even blinked when then Mark moved on to her. Mark looked so relieved, as if a little bit of the burden on his back had been lifted.

Dear heaven, it was a relief to see some familiar faces, some family. She hurried forward and gave tearful hugs.

"Look at how big the young master has grown," Brigands beamed and touched Charles's tiny hand. He must've noticed her glance out the door for her grandparents because his smile faded. "They send their regrets and promise that they'll return soon. They lost many of their tribe in a massacre, and your grandfather is needed there."

Mark set a hand on her back. "It doesn't mean they don't love you and won't be back," he promised.

She nodded and swallowed down the disappointment. "I know."

"Show us what the little one has learned," Teresa cooed and led her to the small sofa.

Another patient arrived at the clinic during dinner. When Mark excused himself, Brigands turned to her with concern in his eyes. "Things are not well here. The master has that worry in his eyes that I haven't seen since you almost lost the babe."

She sighed, the weight of the world pulling down her shoulders. "People here are in dire need of a physician, yet there is no money to be paid. We are receiving bags of grain or flour or promises instead of coin. I had to sell my hair to put food on the table. We're running out of supplies for the clinic, and Mark is gone all hours of the day and night treating patients. He's barely sleeping, Charles is fussy from ear infections that won't come or go even though Mark put tubes in his ears, and I'm so tired trying to make sure they're both not run ragged," she whimpered as all the worries came pouring out. "He refuses for me to find employment and is considering a bank profession in the city."

Brigands scoffed. "He was miserable at the bank once. I could be hired help at the mercantile. Teresa could be a cook at the restaurant down the road, and you stay here taking care of the little one and helping His Lordship with the clinic. We will help make ends meet until business straightens out."

She shook her head. "That's the thing - this town is drying up."

Brigands smiled. "My lady, you haven't heard? A railroad is being built through town."

"I know, but - "

"And one of it's stops will be here."

Her heart stopped. "The town will boom?"

"On the way out West, we saw several towns that had gone from twenty to one hundred within a year." His smile grew and he leaned back in his chair. "Has the master traveled north about five miles?"

She frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"

"A lumberyard is taking up residence in preparation for the railroad to bring settlers, who will build houses and shops. I think he'll be in for a pleasant surprise." He set a calling card down on the table. "By luck, we sat on the train beside the owner. He's looking for a surgeon who will get injured men back on the job fast. A company surgeon, he called it. A pre-established clinic and patient load, and very likely a handsome salary that won't be rice and grain."

* * *

"Mark, I should not be here. It's improper and will ruin your reputation," she whispered on the front step of Mr. Price's home. Or more like fortress that almost put Mark's estate in England to shame.

He dusted off the road dirt from the blacksmith's suit coat on loan. "I do not care. You are my business partner for all intents and purposes, and he will learn the boundaries from the start. A contract will not be entered into without both clinic partners present." He rang the bell, the aire of marquess coming right back to him as if he had just left the drawing room in England.

"His name certainly suits him," she mumbled.

A butler answered and led the way to a study quite reminiscent of the old money back in the home country. A man not much older than Mark stood from where he smoked a cigar in his fancy suit.

"American manners," Mark whispered under his breath and led her over while the butler announced them.

"Dr. Johnson, a pleasure. I ran into a friend of yours on the train, who sang your praises so high that I had to meet you." He stood and gave a nod rather than a handshake like the Americans.

"Mr. Price. It's a pleasure." Mark extended a hand even though it was unreciprocated. Oh dear. However, he fluidly went into introductions. "May I introduce my wife and business partner, Mrs. Tanya Johnson?"

The man's eyebrows touched the vaulted ceilings. "Business partner? Surely you can't be serious that a female is a business partner?"

"Oh, Mr. Price," Mark tisked, "you have much to learn about America. Women are encouraged to pursue intellectual pleasures and economic ventures. It is a fresh breath from England's lands."

Oh goodness. Mark planned to take Mr. Price offguard with America's ways to pave her into the business deal. Dicey to make such a lie, but clever. She bowed her head to hide a smile.

"You are from England?" Ah, Mark had set the bait and reeled in the fish. Poor Mr. Price didn't seem to realize that Mark was gaining the upperhand in the negotiations already.

"Aren't most of us? My wife is marchioness of the late Marquess Debonairo. She took pity on me being disinherited from my Earl father for becoming a soldier and accepted my proposal. Her beauty quite took my breath away."

Before Mark could continue, Mr. Price looked down his nose at her. "Mmm. She's a bit dark."

Now Mark looked down _his_ nose at the man. "Spanish women often are. Much more beautiful than English women who are so pale they appear sickly." The man breezed right onto the next topic, expertly leaving Mr. Price off-kilter again. "I studied in the battlefield and eventually in university, so I recognize skill when I see it. An avid intellectual she is, for she has increased my clinic's business two-hundred percent a week since the inception just weeks ago." His eyes narrowed on the man, striking precisely where he wanted. "I see to the patients, oftentimes with my wife as my nurse - mind you that I'd take her over several surgeons I've had the unfortunate opportunity of working with - and she runs the business side so I can keep bringing in the cash." Her hand tightened on his arm for the danger of that fib about running his clinic, but Mark didn't quiet. "In my decade of practice, I have lost less than twenty percent of my patients - most of those birthing women in the wild forests of Africa. I currently have patients flowing through my doors at all hours of the day and night. If I'm not mistaken, you've asked us here because your lumberyard recently opened."

Goodness, Mark kept a steady stream that left her head spinning. Mr. Price barely had time to react to one topic before Mark was onto another.

"I do not want for patients, Mr. Price. There's a surgeon a few miles West whom I know has lost most of his loyal patients to me. Perhaps 'loyalty' isn't the proper word but patients who seek to not perish in a surgeon's hands. Anyways, I'm sure he'd welcome a contract as your surgeon." He gave a single nod of departure.

"Mr. Johnson." Mr. Price's tone held no room for disobedience. "Have you successfully reattached limbs? Our saws are dangerous, and often men have the blade stop once it chews through to the bone. My former surgeon would amputate."

That slightly arrogant gleam came to Mark's eye that made her heart flutter. It hadn't been since the early days of their marriage that he'd had that confident look of being able to conquer even the King himself. "I imagine a lesser surgeon would, as it is more convenient and quick to finish the amputation. You've heard of the Xhosa Wars in Africa? In the fifties, I was a battlefield surgeon. Men had to return to the field and could not do so with missing limbs."

Oh dear god. That bloody war had been going on for decades and still was. He'd never said a word about it in his time in Africa. The haunted look in his eye said it wasn't a lie either.

Mr. Price waved for them to sit and then seated himself. "You do not want more patients and seem to not desire the funds, so why are you here?"

Mark reclined back with all the haughtiness of a marquess. "Intrigue. And you, my good man, asked me because you either think or know I am cheaper than the professors a bit further North but better."

She held back a smile. My goodness, Mark was good at this game.

Mr. Price smiled and crossed his legs. "You are bored with common ailments and seek something of a challenge. A lumberyard surgeon, if indeed skilled, would grow a reputation reaching coast to coast within a couple years. You crave the ego of a renown surgeon."

The corner of Mark's mouth curled. "I imagine a renowned reputation isn't all it's cracked up to be. I seek the hours of a lumberyard where I'm not interrupted during dinner or pulled out of bed every night. I may be interested, if a deal is packaged right."

She sat back and watched the men, thoroughly enjoying this game of aristocratic egos and bluffs.

"The package is ten thousand a year salary, with handsome raises should you be as good as you claim. Clinic hours would be daylight lumberyard hours for the most part. You and your wife will live in this town and shall have full use of my clinic, with the latest medical toys you desire to provide top-notch care to my workers. Your house will be provided, one like this but on a smaller scale."

He promised to sweep away all the hardships of the past weeks - past years even, as if they all had been a bad dream.

"No." Mark's eyes narrowed. "Your house must be the biggest because you long to rule over your kingdom. Should I agree to this employment, I do not want a house that you own. I will not be at another man's mercy of having my family turned out homeless. We would move to the outskirts of town, and I will purchase my own land and build my own house. I will not reside within lumberyard borders, so should you cease my employment, I have every right to open my own clinic on the edge of town. And we both know that a lumberyard surgeon's salary is fifteen thousand, not ten."

"You've done your homework, Dr. Johnson." The man sounded pleased. "However, your wife has not yet spoken. As your partner, of course."

Mark gave a nod. "As you wish."

She smiled. "Yes, Mr. Price. Salaries just a few miles East in the larger cities go as high as even twenty-five thousand. However, should you provide the clinic and supplies - when and what we say are needed and not rationed - fifteen thousand would be sufficient. However, as we are relieving you of the expense of housing us, eighteen thousand is agreeable."

"Cheeky, isn't she?" Mr. Price sneered and didn't look too pleased that Mark had received his salary knowledge from her research.

"Oh no," Mark said with an arrogant smile at her beating Mr. Price at his own game, "she's just that good."

"Sixteen," the man countered.

"Seventeen, and we'll just lump in my salary with his," she stated before Mark could speak.

Mark looked at her in surprise but quickly recovered before Mr. Price saw. If it took her getting a salary to increase lump wages, so be it. Perhaps it would've been wise to have discussed it with Mark first. But if the whole deal was ruined because Mr. Price wouldn't hire on a woman, good riddance to him.

"Your salary?" Mr. Price asked in a deadly tone that threatened to shut down the entire deal.

"Surely you didn't expect me to work for free running your clinic, Mr. Price?" She laughed like it was the silliest thought in the world.

"Tell me why you need a salary, Mrs. Johnson." He sat up straighter, his tone irritated. He was either goading or truly considering it.

Perhaps that had been a push too far, but she deserved compensation too. And respect having her time acknowledged by him and the workers as being worthy of something. "Because when my husband is otherwise engaged with a patient and another comes in the door with mortal injuries, I can stabilize him until my husband is freed. Because if my husband is to spend his time saving lives and limbs of your workers so you do not lose production, someone has to be tracking that lifesaving supplies - such as sutures to stop hemorrhages - are always in stock. Or even transfusion tubes being my husband is a walking blood bank."

His eyes flicked to Mark, clearly liking that factor.

"Or perhaps you don't mind risking your men and your business shutting down because no one will work in a lumberyard with high death tolls. Those are my terms, Mr. Price. My husband and I are not a package deal." She folded her hands in her lap to hide the shaking. Not even a marchioness would have the guts to press a man so. But it felt damn good to demand respect from a man to be seen as an equal.

Mr. Price sat back and eyed her, as if considering the matter. "Sixteen is my offer."

Mark had just lost the upper hand, and she couldn't back down now without looking weak and of little value.

"Alright. I suggest you hire a bookkeeper for supplies and expenses." She stood, forcing both men to rise, and gave a nod of departure. "I shall wait in the foyer while you discuss your business," she told Mark.

Panic widened Mark's eyes, as if he hadn't dreamed that losing her entirely would happen.

"Mrs. Johnson. A pleasure." Mr. Price bowed, seeming pleased that she pulled out of the mix.

It was money or dignity. Mark had the money, so she could afford to hold onto the dignity.

Mark turned to the man and folded his arms behind his back, his tone stone cold with displeasure at this turn of events. But bless his heart, Mark didn't object to her decision. "Since I am deprived of a nurse as well, I'm in need of a man with brains and a hearty stomach. And a moron barber off the street will not due," he snapped. "I'm not an easy man to work with, and I require an assistant who is obedient yet has the brains to help me come up with better methods always. Should I do surgery the same way twice, it is poor technique. There is always room for improvement. I will return to consider the contract once you find a suitable assistant, whom I will interview as well." His eyes narrowed. "The quality of brains that I require in my assistant will not come cheap. Hand me a moron, and I will walk on the spot, Mr. Price," he growled, clearly ready to breathe fire. Then he turned and took her arm.

"Sixteen-two. I will not salary a woman more than two hundred pounds a year," Mr. Price huffed. "It's my final offer."

A glance at Mark revealed his lip twitch in a smile. His eyebrow rose in question if this was agreeable.

She turned to Mr. Price. "A fixed rate without raises, I presume?"

"Take it or leave it. You are lucky that I'm in an agreeable mood to consent to the nonsense of paying a woman to run her husband's business," he grumbled.

"You offer because two hundred a year for a woman is far cheaper than what a man in the same position would charge," Mark growled.

She squeezed his arm to hold back his temper. It was a small victory, but still a victory. "I agree to a one-year contract. That shall be sufficient time for you to see how my husband and I will build your lumberyard, and you'll be amenable to raises."

He snorted. "And how will a clinic build it?"

"Your men will not die or be mutilated on the job near the typical rates. Families will have better health, thereby lowering your workers' sick leave rates. And my husband's reputation will spread so that outsiders will offer to pay for services at your clinic. Men will _want_ to work in your yard, and your business will only grow."

The man's eyes lit up with dollar signs.

"Mr. Price, you have yourself a deal." She caught his hand and shook it.

He jerked free. "I say that's forward, Mrs. Johnson. Your husband and I are discussing business - "

Mark offered her his arm and gave a nod to Mr. Price, a slight smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "My partner has authority to answer for both of us, Mr. Price. We shall return in a few days to sign the drawn-up contract."

Down the road in the buggy, Mark burst out laughing. "Tanya, I think we just traded our financial problems for other issues."

She smiled. "Yes, but we're a step in the right direction, Mark." She giggled and let down her hair. "Ugh, these pins are too uncomfortable with short hair - " His top hat plopped on her head, and she raised her eyebrows.

"I told you that you're not allowed in public with your hair down," he growled and burrowed into his cape, his mood suddenly changing.

"There's no one around." She rolled her eyes.

"If we pass someone on the road, then there will be," he huffed. "I'll not have men lusting after my woman even more than they do."

A smile tugged. "Why, Mark, are you jealous?"

He gave a dark look.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "No one lusts after me." The man interrupted with a snort. "I shall only let my hair down for you. Shall I do it in the bedchamber? That seems safest should you have to tear off my clothes all the sudden - "

The man halted the buggy right on the road and turned to her. "Should you not wish for another babe this year, your tongue will be kept in check," he snapped. "There are hay bales a plenty in these fields, and the chill is enough that no one shall be wandering through them."

"Yes, Mark," she purred and look at him from beneath her lashes.

"You irritating wench," he huffed. "Do you not know when to stop playing with fire?!"

"Yes, but I love it when you're in a temper and want me," she breathed and gazed at his lips. "The past few days, you've left my bed too cold." She leaned forward and kissed him.

He set her back and kept her at arm's length. "Because I've been out on cases! You think I wouldn't prefer to have a naked woman in my bed than be driving in the cold in the middle of the night? Your body is likely becoming fertile again. A dally in the fields isn't happening."

A soft pout tugged at her lips, and she began to put up her hair. The man watched, making a blush rise. "Why are you staring?"

"We're making love in my head."

It was said with such seriousness that she burst out with laughter.

The man turned and snapped the reins to start the horse forward. "You won't be laughing when we get home, woman," he snorted.

She snuggled against his arm. "Yes, Mark," she sighed in bliss. "I'm glad that you're feeling better enough to be my cuddle bear again the past couple days. I missed you when you were so quiet."

"Daft woman," he huffed. "A normal wife doesn't make her husband fall in love with her more every day," he grumbled. But a soft kiss pressed on top of her hair.

Teresa was a wonderful nanny when Mark insisted on her attendance at business meetings with Mr. Price, and Brigands knew exactly how to get a clinic in order while Mark met with Mr. Price to review who all needed medical care right away.

"Brigands," she whispered in the back lab that had a microscope and everything Mark could possibly want, "we sort of fibbed that I keep Mark's books and supply stocked. I know nothing about running a clinic - Mark just wanted me kept on as a nurse."

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "My lady, I ran the master's supply for years when he practiced. It is not hard. I'll teach you, and you'll start to get a feel for what he uses more than other things. Sutures will likely be in high demand here, and I suggest you locate ten blood donors. In this line of work, much blood will be used. Always have many bandages. Should there be an accident, there could be dozens of patients at once. Always keep pain meds and chloroform stocked well." His lesson went on all morning.

The front clinic door banged open. "Tanya!" Mark roared.

She hurried out to the commotion with Brigands.

A man laid a worker on the table whose chest and mouth were bathed in blood. Mark's hands were already bloody like he'd tried to start treating out in the field. Another man laid a second patient on a bed whose leg gushed from a broken bone that perforated his pants.

"Grab the chloroform and wash," Mark ordered. "A horse reared and caught them. You take the leg, I'll take the punctured lung."

Brigands sedated the men and fetched supplies as she and Mark set to work.

She pulled the leg, shaking from the effort, but it wouldn't align. "Brigands, I'm not strong enough. Help me pull his leg to set it." No success.

"Stabilize him and then come help me finish here," Mark ordered. "I'll set the leg."

He had a tube down the patient's throat, and a man pumped a bag on the other end to do the breathing. It created a terrible gurgle. Mark worked through chest incisions between the ribs. "Tanya, figure out a way to suction before he drowns in his own blood," he snapped. "If he stops pumping, this man is dead, so deal with the movement. I have to suture punctures so we can get the goddamn lung inflated again."

She stuck in a drain and suctioned out blood. The gurgling ceased and Mark's hands whipped in sutures, but the lungs wouldn't inflate.

A curse left Mark's lips. "Pleural edema. Son of a bitch, we don't need that. Tanya, fluid is collecting around his lungs from the trauma. I cannot stop stitching. Get a long-needled syringe and drain his chest. I don't care where as long as you don't get in my way."

"I went through inventory with Brigands this morning. There aren't syringes long enough to work, and he'd need punctures almost hourly to drain more fluid, increasing his risk for infection."

"Put in a drain then." He frantically worked, catching her eye just long enough to give a look that said he knew they didn't have any of those either.

That left tubes and creativity. And a good chance of dying from experimental medicine. Her heart galloped. She had no idea how to do this and Mark's expertise was needed suturing a moving lung. He struggled as it was to repair jagged tears in delicate tissue.

"Instinct is all we got, and yours is as good as any," Mark whispered without looking at her, as if knowing her thoughts and fears.

She wasn't a surgeon or even an experienced nurse. This patient needed someone skilled. His medical books said that few chest drains were successful yet, oftentimes killing the patient. "Mark - "

"Tanya, do it," he ordered.

Something about that command, his absolute trust that she would think of something, shoved out the fear. Kneeling down, she scrubbed the side of the chest near where Mark worked. She grabbed a scalpal and cut at the bottom of the lung.

His eyes flicked over. "Whatever you do, do not go into the lung. He's turning blue and has no time for more incision repairs. Get his lung inflated."

Then she grabbed a tube and listened with a stethoscope. "Pump a deep breath into him," she ordered the man. Right there. She jammed the tube up and fluid gushed out of the tube. A lot of it. The next pump raised the chest with inflated lungs.

"Goddamn, you're good," Mark muttered. "When you're done, I need your finger."

Once she had the tube stabilized, she stood up beside Mark.

"Stick your finger in here and see if you feel any hole left in the lung. I think I stitched it all shut, but I can't fit my finger in far enough to tell."

The warm, slippery lung was interrupted with rough knots from sutures. On the ends, it evened out into smooth tissue again. "It seems good. Trade. I can suture his skin shut while you align the leg."

"Put a drain tube in here too because it'll likely get infection from where the horse's hoof went in." He leaned over quick and whispered in her ear, "Few surgeons can make up how to do something and do it perfectly the first try." Then he washed to work on the next patient.

She began stitching and couldn't hold back the smile of pride that beamed from his praise. Maybe medical university wouldn't be so bad. Especially if Mark was her partner.

Mr. Price stepped in as she was bandaging the lung patient and Mark devised a contraption to keep the leg stable. "They're both alive?" He folded his arms over his chest and propped his chin in his hand.

"Of course they are." She gave him a look.

"Collapsed lungs and a broken leg don't make dead patients," Mark drawled.

Mr. Price walked over to the broken leg. "No amputation?" he asked with condescension.

Mark's eyebrows rose and he looked up from where he knelt beside the bed. "Just what kind of a quack did you have here?"

"They're alive for now. We'll see in two weeks if they've survived." Then he walked out.

She glanced over her shoulder at Mark, who glared at the door. "Pleasant, isn't he?"

He snorted and finished up. "This will be great fun," he growled.

"He'll come around once he sees your skill, Mark. Don't worry about him."

Those blue eyes gave a pointed look to the chest drain. "Maybe he'll fire me and put you on as surgeon." He winked.

Her heart fluttered, Mark's praise having far more effect than it should.

* * *

Within the first week, Mark had to sleep overnight at the clinic because of a full house of ten men who were hospitalized for grave injuries.

She arrived with the babes, Brigands and Teresa one morning just in time to see Mark slam the door and storm out of the clinic. He spotted the buggy and marched over. "Tanya, come," he ordered and helped her down. "Leave the babe with Teresa for a minute." Then he caught her arm through his and led the way to Mr. Price's office.

"Do I get to know where we're going?" She trotted to keep up with his long strides that were quite impressive for a man who needed a cane.

"To dumbass's office," he snarled.

Mr. Price sat behind his fancy wood desk smoking a cigar when Mark barged through the door.

"These men are coming into my clinic with preventable injuries!" he roared. Then Mark slammed a hand down on the desk and seethed, "Fix whatever the hell you have going on."

"You're the surgeon - "

"I will not have men die on my watch because you're a tightass about putting safety measures in place!" he shouted, his face red and neck veins bulging. He straightened when she set a hand discretely on his back to calm down.

"My employees do not raise their voices to me. I'm a businessman, not a philanthropist, Dr. Johnson. You're welcome to quit," the man drawled.

Mark snatched the cigar from the man's mouth. "Get to the clinic and see what your carelessness has done to these men."

Mr. Price didn't move.

"Fine." He flung the cigar down on the desk. "You figure out yourself how to keep men with punctured organs and half severed limbs alive. I'm opening my own clinic on the edge of town," he spat.

The man shot to his feet. "With what salary?"

"We're not going to work for damn scum. When your men to come to us for real medical care instead of some quack you hire, your pocketbook will remind you every day of your profit losses."

"You cannot set up competition - "

"It's in the damn contract. And guess what? I just did." He slammed the clinic key down on the desk and caught her arm to walk out.

"Abandoning patients. Dr. Johnson?"

Mark stopped in his tracks and turned, with an arrogant smile. "Oh no, Mr. Price. They're being transported to my clinic south."

The man's face reddened. "You can't take my men off this property!"

Mark looked ready to explode and stepped toe to toe with Mr. Price. "When they're on their deathbeds, they're legally under my care and I can haul them five miles south for proper care! Tanya put in an order for more sutures, and when I checked at the mercantile, he said you haven't given the funds for the order to be submitted!"

"You have no right to come in and tell me what to do! You're a lowly surgeon!" Mr. Price shouted, not backing down either. The men glared at each other, the tension so high that someone would throw a punch at any minute.

She pressed between the two men. "Knocking out teeth will do nothing but give us a need for a dentist. Mr. Price, it would behoove you to install safety measures. Not only would it cut down your profit loss for men losing production, but it would spread your reputation of this being the lumberyard to work because of low injury rates. Low injury rates, compounded with skilled medical care would make death rates nearly non-existent."

The men just glared at each other overhead. "But go ahead and continue losing men and driving your own business to the ground. By all means, a _lowly surgeon_ shouldn't stop you," Mark snapped. Then he led her to the door and followed her out.

"Mark, we cannot transport these men. They're too injured," she whispered down the steps.

"Yes, but he doesn't know that. Pray that our bluff isn't recognized." He kept his eyes forward as he led her across the dirt road. His knuckles shined white from his strangling grip on the cane. "You should've let me punch him. At least it'd make me feel better," he growled.

"And give you a broken hand so you can't work." She linked her arm through his and gave a soft pat of comfort to his arm.

"Dr. Johnson, a word!" Mr. Price called.

Mark glanced at her and then led her back to Mr. Price's office. However, Mark stood in the doorway with the door wide open for anyone to hear.

"If improvements are made, you agree to stay on until a replacement can be found should you still decide to terminate your employment." Mr. Price sat at his desk like this should've been an offer to make Mark jump with joy.

His grip tightened on the head of the cane, if possible. "No, we agree to give two month's notice. Otherwise, you could drag your feet for years finding a replacement. I do not wish to fight you every step of the way, but it benefits you to not have many patients in the clinic - it doesn't benefit me financially."

"Other than not spending nights at the clinic?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I see more than you know, Dr. Johnson. You do not favor me, but it's not my job to be favored. My job is to have a profitable business so men can put food on the table for their families. Come in here again and tell me how to run my business, and you're both fired. She opens her mouth, and you're both fired. I will not tell you how to run your business, Doctor. The sutures order was an oversight - I took care of it yesterday. You're welcome to check with the merchant today that it was rectified."

"I will. I'm obligated as the company surgeon to bring it to your attention should I see physical harm being done to my patients that is avoidable," he stated, his tone as cold as Mr. Price's. "When my patients are affected, I have every right to tell you how to run your business. Should I return men to work too soon, you have a right to tell me how to run my business."

The two men looked at each other for a long, strained few moments. Mr. Price held out his hand.

Mark hesitated but ultimately stepped forward and accepted the handshake. He led her to the door way and then turned. "And Mr. Price? If you must state your lack of faith in our medical capabilities, it's not to be done in front of patients."

"Of course, Dr. Johnson. We agree to dislike each other but be respectful in front of the men."

Mark gave a nod of agreement and led her out.

"He might be a little bit of a better man than you think, Mark. Give it time before you hate each other. I think you'll earn his respect once he sees your skill."

"We'll see, He seems content to completely ignore you during business conversation, the pompous arse.."

"Which I prefer for the time being while I'm learning. I'm excited for you to open your own clinic. I sort of like having the house attached to the clinic."

"I do too. I can't wait to be back in a bed instead of sleeping on a floor."


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note: I wanted this and the next chapter together, but my account kept crashing from too many words in the file.**

* * *

"Mark, it's beautiful," she breathed and walked through the house framework a few weeks later.

"It's not anything like home in England, but it's bigger than the cabin. Brigands is going to build a small cabin next door. We'll have a sitting room and small study. The children's bedrooms are upstairs." He turned to her, the excitement suddenly gone from his eyes. "Would you be opposed to our chambers being downstairs? I know it's unconventional and means a bit of a smaller room - "

She set her finger to his lips. "It also means your leg will hurt less not having to do stairs twice a day. Of course I don't mind. Show me where'd it go." She smiled and took his hand.

He limped to the back of the house, leaning heavily on his cane the past few days with the rains exacerbating his knee pain. "Here. I pictured a large window looking over the stream out back. I'll save up enough money, and you can have a windowseat for reading. There will be a little corner here for a crib so we don't have to trudge up and down stairs all night. There will be space over there for your vanity," he said, his eyes lighting up. "And - "

She laughed. "Mark, I don't need a vanity. I think I used the one in England twice. It's too frivolous."

He scowled. "Should I give you something frivolous, you shall not complain that you don't need it. That's the point of it being frivolous." When she didn't give in, he sighed. "Fine. I'll put a bookshelf there full of new books for you and wide enough to serve as a vanity on top. There. It's useful, so it's not frivolous, woman."

A laugh bubbled up. "Yes, Mark."

The stress left his features again. "And over here is the closet. It's big enough to hold all your dresses, not just two like the closets we have now - "

"And what am I to do with more than a couple dresses? There aren't balls and such nonsense here."

His shoulders dropped. "Women aren't supposed to _object_ to having vanities and big closets and dresses."

Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she folded her hands behind her back. "Alright, I'll be good."

The dear man seemed so excited to show her all of his plans. "And this room," he said and limped into a modest-sized room with outlines for dozens of windows, "is the library."

Her hands flew to her mouth with a gasp. "A library?!" A squeal of delight leaked out.

He grinned. "I thought it might be your favorite room, so it's a hint larger than the sitting room and has the best views. Shelves will go from floor to ceiling on these two walls. The lower shelves can hold the children's books, and the upper ones can be ours. There's no room at the clinic for medical books and journals, so we'll store them here, perhaps in this corner. I put in a membership for a couple journals that should arrive in the next month with new issues." He positively glowed with happiness. "Go upstairs and look at the children's rooms."

She left him with Charles so he wouldn't have to climb the stairs. The rooms upstairs had gorgeous lumber walls and appeared to be near completion. Windows caught light from the front and back of the house, promising good light all day. The views out front overlooked the forest in the distance with mountains speckling the background. Out back faced the stream and lush green meadows, perfect for children to run and play. There were three bedrooms with four bedframes.

She walked down the stairs where he waited, his eyes locked on hers. At the bottom step, he came face-to-face. Her heart beat faster. "Four beds," she said softly.

Those blue eyes searched her gaze. "Have more babes with me, Tanya." His voice flowed low and gentle. "I know not for a few months yet until Charles is a bit older, but...fill our house with the pitter patter of feet racing down the stairs and squeals waking us up at dawn. I want to trip over children crawling on the floor and coloring on the walls and spilling milk all over. I want to see your belly swell with our children as we grow a family here. This is where I picture us growing old. In time, I'll have money to build a porch on the back, and we can set rocking chairs there to watch the sunset while the grandbabes play in the field."

Her throat grew tight with joy. "Mark, it's so beautiful." She cupped his cheek and searched his eyes. "I want four more babes to fill this house."

"Five children?" When she nodded, he smiled and lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Johnson!"

Mark groaned and broke the kiss at the sound of Mr. Price's urgent call. "It's been barely three months and I'll kill him yet," he muttered and then turned.

The man darted through the wall studs and hurried over, his eyes wide. "One of the massive saw machines collapsed and several men are crushed underneath."

Mark handed her the babe. "Take Charles to Teresa, then hurry to the clinic and start what you can. I'll be right behind you."

Men were already filling the clinic with the wounded when she got there. Screams of agony and terror filled the air. Glancing back down the road, Mr. Price tucked himself under Mark's arm trying to help him hurry but they had a long ways to come yet. She darted inside the clinic, toward something that should've been terrifying. Being surrounded by men was something that would've triggered flashbacks even weeks ago, but these were good men who were coming to respect her and Mark. These men and families were becoming friends. They looked after Mark, seeing her and Brigands home safely when Mark had to stay behind. They brought Mark meals on his overnights tending to patients. They needed her right now. So she ran into the nightmare of blood and screams and pain to start triage.

Two were dead and another looked at her as she knelt to inspect injuries. This man had brought her gears from an old lumberyard machine yesterday to make Mark a leg brace so he could have use of both hands at all times. Tim. He had helped her make sketches to give to the blacksmith to surprise Mark. Tim released a long breath that went on forever and ever. And then his eyes glazed over. Tears welled. But so many lives waited to be saved that Tim had to be a case, a statistic, not a friend to grieve right now. Not having her mind focused meant lives would pay the price. "Another one," she called to the workers to take his body away. They seemed to keep bringing in more injured until all ten beds were full and five patients were placed on the floor. She moved onto the next one.

Another man had a terrible belly wound that required immediate surgery. "I don't care if you have to carry him down the road, get Dr. Johnson here now!" she yelled over the screams of pain.

Three men ran out without question as another two came over to help.

"Apply pressure right here. Henry, take this gauze and go apply pressure to Frank over there with a head wound," she ordered and ran over to another man who was brought in screaming in pain. "Jacob, what hurts?"

"My back!" Another scream as the men helped her carefully peek underneath.

Dear god, his back was lumpy and swelling with broken vertebrae. "Go to every nearby town and bring surgeons. There are at least five men who all need immediate surgery," she ordered.

Just as a couple men ran out, three came in and set Mark down. "Stats, Tanya," he ordered and went straight to washing for surgery.

"Matthew I think has a severed aorta. We have two more belly wounds, head trauma, broken back...I don't even know all of them yet." Panic inched in as she darted to the next man. "Chest pains - might be heart attack." She listened with the stethoscope. "Lungs are clear." Then she ran to the next patient, shooting off reports while Mark started surgery on Matthew, the most grievous so far.

"Next!"

Her head whipped around to Mark, who was already washing the blood off his hands. Two men carried Matthew out the door. "Hemorrhaged before I even started," he explained solemnly.

* * *

She looked up and tilted her head to get the crick out of her neck. Sunrise. More than twelve hours of surgery with three physicians. Wives came to be nurses as best they could, but none had experience, so all surgery assistance was up to her.

"Almost done." Mark's gentle, low tone gave a nudge of much needed encouragement to make it through the final stretch. The poor man sat on a stool with his leg propped after it had swelled to twice its size by midnight. He had to be in pain himself, but all the pain medicine was claimed by patients. Of the nearly twenty men who were injured - some of them while trying to rescue the injured - only fourteen survived. Two of them had an arm or leg crushed so badly that Mark had to amputate. Only soft moans filled the air as Brigands dolled out more laudanum. Families donated what laudanum they had in their homes to help the men until more was due to be shipped in tomorrow afternoon.

She wiped Mark's brow that was bathed in sweat, unlike the other surgeons'. He suffered, but bless his heart, he refused to take even tree bark aspirin because a patient might need it. "I can send one of the men to find ice for your knee - "

"Every extra hand is accounted for to monitor patients," he stated, a bit breathless.

"Mrs. Johnson?" one of the surgeons called from his makeshift surgical table on the other side of the clinic.

She left Mark's side and went over. Exhaustion dulled the senses and the mind. The surgeon knotted a chest tube in with the wrong stitch. A voice nearby challenged him, "A purse string suture will do more harm than good. A chest tube being sewn in like that is ludicrous. Anchor it down to avoid complications, right under this rib here..." It was her finger that pointed.

She blinked and looked up. The surgeon stared at her. Oh dear god, had she spoken? Looking over her shoulder, she met Mark's eyes. His eyebrows were raised. The other surgeon stared at her too. Oh god. She'd not only corrected but insulted a seasoned physician who was here out of the goodness of his heart. And insulted him in front of patients and other surgeons.

The surgeon's face turned red.

"I would have to concur, Dr. Grant. A purse string stitch runs great risk of the tube slipping or trapping infection," Mark stated from across the room in a conversational tone as he worked.

The other surgeon just ducked his head to stay out of it.

He handed over the sutures. "Be my guest, Mrs. Johnson," the physician ground out.

Oh dear. She glanced at Mark, who gave a single nod of reassurance. Washing her hands, she took the thread and sutured in a chest tube like that done on another man weeks ago. Then she set it down and looked at the surgeon.

He pursed his lips and turned his head this way and that as he surveyed her handiwork. "Who taught you this technique?" he barked.

"I tried it on a patient weeks ago in an emergency, and it seemed to work quite well."

His eyes narrowed on her. "You made it up?"

"Yes, sir." It took every ounce of courage to hold her head up like a marchioness, as Mark had once taught. She deserved respect and had a right to it. Mark didn't readily give medical praise, but even he had approved this technique.

"Arrogant, aren't you?"

Mark stood up, but she met the surgeon's eyes dead on. "No, sir, I just know when I'm right."

The man burst into a belly laugh. "Very good, Mrs. Johnson. Stand behind your work when you know you're right." He turned back to bandage the patient. "Have you considered medical university? There are a couple women's ones on the coast not too far from here. You exhibited skill tonight far superior to some experienced surgeons I know."

She blinked and then glanced at Mark in surprise, but he simply smiled and sat down again.

"Um, my husband has mentioned it, but I never gave it too much serious consideration - "

"Then do. I'm a professor there. Should you consider it, I shall write a personal recommendation that they'd better accept you or acknowledge they have shit for brains."

Her eyebrows rose. That couldn't have been heard correctly. Men didn't encourage women to go to university, much less medical school. Mark was an eccentric exception. She looked over at Mark, who grinned like an idiot as he finished suturing his patient.

Mr. Price walked in at that moment. "Well, what's the damage, Dr. Johnson?" he ordered, not seeming to even care if he interrupted surgery.

"Far less than it should be, Mr. Price," the surgeon answered for Mark. He didn't bother to turn around to the lumberyard owner, which made her bow her head to hide a smile. "You have excellent surgical care here. I have offered for Mrs. Johnson to attend medical university, and I'm about to offer Dr. Johnson a professor position. You'd do well to watch your tongue."

Her eyes flew to Mark, who stared in shock at the professor's back.

"She's under contract, as well as him - "

"With two month's notice," Mark reminded him.

"Excellent! Then you'll both be able to start for the Fall term," the surgeon stated in such a jolly tone that Mr. Price looked like he might shoot him.

The professor finally turned to face Mr. Price. "That is, unless you increase their salaries and agree that she may attend university twice a week on days that he lectures to the advanced students. I think we both know that you probably offered him even less salary than you offered me. You, Mr. Price, are a slimy worm who crawled out of a pile of shit and happened across a lumberyard. You're not fit to run this place any more than I'm fit to desire to kiss your ass."

Her breath froze and she slid a step backwards. This was not an argument for which there was any desire to get involved.

Mark, however, looked as calm as could be. His marquess arrogance served him well as he began to bandage his patient and met the men's eyes. "This is neither the time nor place to discuss. Mr. Price, you'll excuse us to get back to finishing up our patients," he commanded. Very wise indeed to leave Mr. Price off-kilter and wondering if a resignation would be coming by the end of the day.

The man turned and hissed in Mark's face, "We had an agreement - "

"Which my wife and I will discuss with you after we finish with the men and get some sleep."

Mr. Price stormed out.

* * *

She curled up to Mark in bed after a short nap. Thankfully, one of the surgeons offered to stay for a few hours so she and Mark could sleep. "Are you going to take the professor position?"

His chest rose and fell under her hand with the depth of his sigh. "I'm not sure. It would be almost half a day's travel, and I'm certain Price would expect hours to be made up at night or on weekends. I've done the professor and traveling surgeon bit. I think it might be time to just settle down and focus on raising a family." He tucked an arm behind his head. "Do you want to go to university?"

"I do a bit, but I think I'd be more ready when the children are all older. And I think the world might be more accepting of female physicians in a few more years. I'm in no rush. University will always be there, but the children are only young for so long."

"We'll figure out how to make it work, if you wish to go. You'd be excellent and have no trouble with courses." He patted her hip with his hand wrapped around her.

She smiled. "You're eccentric, Mark. But I appreciate the offer. I'm happy with our lot how it is right now. Although, I imagine Mr. Price is turning gray with stress."

He sighed and lifted his head to look at the clock. "It's after lunch. Ugh, we should've slept longer. I suppose I should get up and go speak with him and relieve the surgeon. I have other things I prefer to do right now, though." His hand slipped up her nightgown, a naughty twinkle in his eye.

She laughed and climbed up to straddle his hips, bracing her hands on his broad chest. "Your knee is still swollen. You shouldn't do anything to strain it."

He grinned and reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair that hung loose around her face as she looked down at him. "God, I love your hair short like this," he said in soft tones. "It makes your eyes look so big and your lips so full. You're very beautiful, Tanya," he whispered with raw sincerity.

It was the first time he outright said it without the mask of crankiness veiling it. And it caused a deep ache in her heart not seeing it coming.

His brow furrowed like he was confused, and he cupped her cheek. "It upsets you that I said that."

She moved off of him to sit on the bed, looking at him and then at the sheets.

"Tanya?" He sat up, letting the sheet fall to his waist.

"I just...I wasn't ready for that." She shook her head and moved to get up. His comment shouldn't cause confusion and self-consciousness like this.

"I've told you other times when we make love that you're beautiful." The dear man sounded so confused.

She stilled and couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "You've never said it like that."

"Like what, sweetheart? Come here." He scooped her up to sit in his lap and tucked the sheet around her.

"Like you're ready to let Anna go." Tears welled at the sudden realization of how wonderful it felt to not be second-best anymore.

"Oh my girl, ripping out my heart by making you file for divorce because it was best for you and Charles wasn't a clue? Faking my death and leaving everything behind to follow you to America? Working night and day so you never need to work again didn't give you some inkling? You're as blind as they come then, woman. I only have eyes for you." He laid her down and brushed a kiss over her lips. When more tears fell, he leaned up on his elbow and frowned.

She shook her head. "Good tears. I love you."

"I love you too." He laughed in surprise when she caught him in a passionate kiss.

She eased him up to a sit and straddled his hips without breaking the kiss.

"I love it when you make love this way," he whispered against her mouth and pulled back. "Hold on. We need to start being careful so you don't get pregnant."

Her eyebrows rose at the different options he presented while she looped her hands around his neck. "I can tell you right now that abstinence won't work because I'm not avoiding you most of the month."

A laugh shook his shoulders.

She frowned a few minutes later and stepped up behind him as he shrugged on his shirt. "Did it hurt you to have that on?"

"Hm?" He looked over his shoulder while adjusting his collar, and cracked a smile when her hand slid down between his thighs. "Oh. No, the protection didn't hurt, sweetheart."

She knelt to buckle his shoes.

"Tanya," he warned.

Finishing quick, she straightened and stood on her toes to peck a kiss on his lips. "Your knee is too swollen to even try doing your own shoes. I'll nurse Charles and then be at the clinic in a few minutes. And you will let me do what running around I can so you can keep your leg propped up."

"I - "

"Acht." She set a finger to his lips. "No. Your eyes are squinting like you're in pain again already, and we don't have meds in yet. An ill surgeon can't think straight to take care of his patients. You've been running ragged since we reached America. Let me take care of you as much as I'm able. I won't coddle you in front of the men, if you take ice when I give it to you and let me fetch what you need."

Mark grew quieter throughout the day as his knee swelled under his pantaloons. When enough men were well enough to recuperate at home to leave an empty bed that evening, she touched Mark's red cheek.

"Honey, you're flushed," she said quietly where he sat beside a dying man with a terrible head injury. "Go sit on that bed and get your leg up. I can hold his hand just as well as you."

"His wife and children haven't arrived yet - he came a week early while they finish moving here. He'll pass within the hour," he warned, his words interrupted when the unconscious man took a rattling breath and then paused. Then the labored breathing resumed.

"Then you'll have to behave yourself until I can see to you. Go rest before you become a patient." She helped him up, taking a great deal of his weight in his weakened state.

"Don't coddle, woman," he panted softly when she started to help him limp to the bed.

With a sigh, she let the stubborn man go to get there on his own with the cane. The fact that he didn't put up much fight indicated how painful he really was. The blasted man refused to take pain medicine while on call and only wore himself out worse.

She took his place on the stool and held the man's limp hand, wiping his brow that grew damp every now and then. A glance up revealed Mark keeping a close eye on her rather than the man while he rubbed his knee to work out the swelling.

When the man gasped and his fingers twitched in hers, her eyes flew to Mark in a panic.

"Sometimes the brain fires signals right before death," he said quietly and started to get up.

She shook her head for him to stay put. Holding the man's hand tight, she stroked his chest that rose and fell sporadically now. "You don't need to hold on for your family," she said softly. "They wouldn't want you to suffer. We'll tell them that you love them."

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dim. "Ruth," he gasped and gave a soft smile like it wasn't her but perhaps his wife that he saw. Then his sigh went on and on.

A tear fell.

Mark's hand eased hers free, and she looked up to see him sitting on the other side of the dead man's bed. He set his hand over the man's eyes to close them, not once looking at her. "If I should die without you, I hope there's a woman there to hold my hand so I might think it's you," he whispered in a thick voice. Then he reached across the body and set his hand on her arm in comfort as she quietly wept.

* * *

"Yer hair is fetching like that, mum," one of the men said a few days later as she spoonfed him soup being he had two broken arms. "Not many women look like a lady with short hair."

She set the spoon in the bowl and touched her topknot. A thick strand of it had fallen out at some point during the day.

A heavy footstep stopped behind, and a rough finger brushed hers to tuck the lock of hair away again. "I see you're feeling well enough to flirt with my wife, Horace." Mark didn't sound pleased.

The middle-aged man grinned. "I'm being respectful, Doc. A handsome woman around does wonders for the spirit when laid up."

"Tanya, go see to Jacob. I'll finish feeding Horace," he rumbled.

She stood and turned, handing him the bowl. "Yes, Mark," she said with a sultry smile and stood on her toes to peck a kiss on his cheek. "You save me from the savage beasts again."

He growled. "I should hire a dowdy old maid as my nurse. Would spend so much less time having to keep men away from her." Then he sat.

"It's in men's natures to flirt when they're feeling better. Just think - it's a sign that you won't have to be sleeping at the clinic soon." She patted his shoulder.

"I'd rather be in my own bed too if I had a wife," another man chuckled in the next bed.

Mark's face turned red in embarrassment. "Men, watch your manners in front of the lady."

Profuse apologies came her way until she hurried across the room.

"Hello, Jacob. How are you feeling?" She did the customary vitals check that had become instinct now every time approaching a patient.

"So tired. You must be worn to the bone looking after our sorry hides every day." The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. But it would be hard for anyone to smile being in traction for a broken back.

She set a hand to his brow. "You feel warm. Did Dr. Johnson take a look at your back today?"

"A couple hours ago. He put on a salt poultice because he didn't like the swelling."

"Can you feel this?" She lightly touched the top of his bare foot.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Do you feel more ill? I can have Dr. Johnson check you again."

"No, ma'm. Is it time for more medicine? My back is hurting something fierce."

She looked at the piece of paper that Mark had tied to the foot of each patient's bed to keep track of medicine dosing. "I'm afraid not. Let me ask if there's something else you can have."

"Mark?" She approached and set a hand on his shoulder while he finished feeding Horace. "He's having a lot of back pain. Can I give him a stick of tree bark? He's not due for more laudanum for another three hours."

He didn't respond, as if he hadn't heard. When she opened her mouth to repeat, he said, "Doses are climbing higher for him to find any relief, possibly a sign of addiction starting. Give him two sticks, and we'll do a lite chloroform sedation at bedtime if he's still painful so he can at least get in a bit of sleep. Note it all on the chart so I don't forget in the middle of the night." Permanent creases seemed to be in the corner of his eyes from his own pain today.

"Alright." After she gave Jacob two sticks to chew on, she broke off a half and pressed it into Mark's hand. Giving him a concerned look and holding his eyes, she wrapped her fingers around his to close his fist.

He got up to see to a man who moaned softly in pain. And he slipped the stick into his mouth on the way over, thankfully.

* * *

Mark's buggy pulled up early the next morning to the house. She frowned and got up from where she nursed Charles in the bedchamber. Mark shouldn't be home this soon from his overnight shift at the clinic. The five-mile ride home often left him walking through the door at lunch when another surgeon filled in for a few hours for him.

"My lady!" Brigands yelled.

She hurried downstairs and handed Charles to Teresa as Mr. Price and another man helped carry Mark through the door. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he snapped, his brow damp and face pale.

"He fainted. I stopped in at midnight," Mr. Price barked, "and he didn't look good. A man needed surgery and the minute he closed him up at sunrise, your husband hit the floor."

"I'm just tired," Mark huffed as they hauled him to the sofa.

"Your leg made you faint," Mr. Price snapped. "You will not return to the clinic for three days! Mrs. Johnson, see to him. His knee is about to burst his pants. I'll send a surgeon by this afternoon."

"I don't need a surgeon - I am one, you moron!"

"Mark!" she gasped. "They're trying to help you. Thank you, gentlemen. I'll take care of him." When they left, she turned to him.

"I - "

"Acht."

"You - "

"Quiet," she commanded with her hands folded like a queen. Brigands and Teresa hurried out.

His eyebrows shot up, completely speechless. The woman had gall to tell him to be quiet! "Wench! Don't - " Her soft mouth crushed down on his, igniting a fire that shouldn't be possible with this kind of white hot pain searing up his leg. Blood rushed in his ears, need throbbing with torturous pleasure that he was too injured to do anything about. Those delicate fingers cupped his face, demanding obedience. And receiving it like he was a goddamn puppy.

"Quiet, husband," she whispered against his lips. "You'll let me bathe and massage you without protest before I put you to bed."

Well, that sounded damn good.

"Then you'll lie on your back and rest while I pleasure you to slumber." She pressed a kiss to his neck right in that spot that made every muscle melt.

"And you think this is what the surgeon prescribes for a swollen knee?" His head tilted to the side of its own accord. The words didn't have as much bite as intended as his eyes drifted shut.

She gave a mesmerizing, throaty laugh. "Alright, I'll give you meds instead." The chit pulled away.

He caught her arm and tugged her down onto his chest. "A good surgeon examines the patient first, woman." That won one of her fairy-like laughs.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Note: I did a lot of research on the medical and patient side of this chapter. It seemed that half and half of patients actually name it (you'll see what I'm talking about).**

* * *

"He does not need an amputation, he needs fluid drained!" She shot up from the bed when the professor dug in his medical bag.

The man froze and blinked at her. "You delay the inevitable and make him suffer," he said gently. "With an amputation, he won't be in this much pain. Medicine progresses every day. We'll figure out some kind of prosthesis that will work - "

"Just like they promised a brace that would work?" Her eyes flashed and fists clenched at her sides. She turned to Mark. "Tell him," she begged.

Each day brought more blinding pain than the last. This week had only been two days at the clinic that had caused him to crawl into bed for days. The swelling hadn't gone down for two weeks. Mr. Price threatened to cease salary until full hours could be done at the clinic. Tanya was a nursemaid more now than she would be to an amputee. At least it would bring an end to the pain. He caught her hand and pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed.

Her face crumpled with tears, as if knowing the answer. Seeing her this scared was harder to bear than his own fear.

"I can't even function anymore." His voice shook with fear of the pain, of the risk of sepsis, of the risk of hemorrhaging...but mostly of the risk that she might never look at him as a man again. "We knew this would eventually come. I can't stand the pain anymore." The tears burned and finally broke free, no longer caring who saw him weep like a babe. "You have to promise," he hicupped, "that you won't stay out of pity."

"No." She cupped his face and pressed a firm kiss to his brow before holding his eyes as her tears poured out. "I'll always stay because I love you." Brushing at her eyes, she looked at the professor. "I need a minute with him." When the man stepped out, she sniffled and stroked his cheek. "We have to talk. A lot. If you're frustrated with something I'm doing, you have to say. If I'm overwhelmed and need a break for a couple hours, I need you to trust me that I'm not having second thoughts. And when you're well enough..." her voice broke and the pain in her brought newfound tears to his eyes, "I don't want you scared of coming back to our marriage bed. You will please me just as much as before, and I won't think you any less handsome."

He pressed his fingers to his eyes to hide the tears. The marriage bed was the part that was most terrifying, the aspect where she'd truly find out he was less of a man. The inevitable point where, try as she might to stop it, she'd shatter his heart because no woman could look at such a broken man again the same way.

Those slim arms wrapped around in an embrace far stronger than they should've been capable of. "I love you. And I'm only going to love you more for your strength and bravery. I'm so sorry." Her body shook with the depths of her sobs. "This is because you came after me when I was kidnapped."

With a deep breath to steady the tears, he held her tight. "This is instead of your life. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

She pulled back, her eyes red with tears, and cupped his face. "Then you have to believe me that I love you so much that I couldn't possibly see you as anything but more of a perfect man. You sacrificed to save Charles and I. Your scars can only be beautiful to me."

Catching her hand on his cheek, he hicupped as the tears came even harder. It was so terrifying that his stomach threatened even though he hadn't been able to keep anything down the past two days because of the pain. The thought of waking up to a nightmare of being less in her eyes...it made the trembling worse. "S,stay til I'm o,out," he gasped in a choked sob. Never in a thousand years had he thought he'd ever be coward enough, but he whimpered, "I'm scared."

A fierce hug offered protection from some of terror. "It's alright to be scared. I am too," she sobbed. "I'll stay the whole time. I'll hold you when you fall asleep, and I'll hold you when you're waking up. We'll get through this together."

This was a woman worth walking through Hell for. This was a woman who promised to hold his hand and go through the fire with him. This was a woman for whom this all was worth to sacrifice even if in the end she walked away. But his Tanya would stay and fight. Because she had taught that's what true love did.

Being held in her arms gave sanctuary from the fear. As it became hard to stay awake from the chloroform, the last glimpse of her was those beautiful eyes holding his as she brought his hand to her lips and whispered words of love.

* * *

The heaving wouldn't stop at the sound of the professor sawing off Mark's leg.

"My lady, come into the sitting room until he's done," Brigands begged.

"I promised to stay." She clutched Mark's limp hand as she retched again at the horrible sound and the stench of so much blood that made the room spin.

"He wouldn't want you to stay through this," the professor said and stopped sawing for a moment.

But if she let go of his hand, the hysteria would set in at the thought of letting Mark be mutilated.

Two hours later, she laid beside Mark's sleeping form, so weak from retching that she could barely move. The stump of a leg far too short under the sheets wouldn't let her look away. Oh god, what if he hadn't needed it done? What had she let the surgeon do to him? Covering her hands over her mouth, hysterical sobs exploded out.

Brigands came in and pulled her into his arms.

"What did we do? Oh god, what did we do?! What did we do to him?!" Hysterical screams wouldn't stop. "I let him be chopped up!"

"Shhh," he cooed and rocked her. "He needed it. This is a normal reaction. You let this panic out before he's awake to see it. He'll have a better quality of life now." Brigands didn't leave her side while Mark was kept sedated for pain control the next twenty-four hours...and while she lost her mind from guilt.

* * *

His eyes fluttered open, a bit groggy and unfocused. It took several minutes for him to comprehend the questions the professor asked. As promised, she reclined in bed with an arm over his chest and her other hand held his. All the panic had subsided last night, leaving behind the courage to be strong for him now.

"Leg hurts," he slurred, his eyes squinted in pain. He shifted, but only one leg moved.

"Do you remember that you had surgery?" the doctor asked.

She swallowed hard when Mark tried to shift again. "Honey, do you remember how bad your knee hurt? We couldn't do anything for it anymore." The doctor said to be ready for hysteria or anger or sobbing from Mark. Her heart thundered in dread, waiting for his suffering to hit.

No movement, not even a breath. His throat convulsed in a hard swallow, and then his eyes shifted down. And stared where the sheet didn't have a lump underneath anymore. Then his chest rose and fell in deep breaths like he struggled to not weep. "Did...you see?" His eyes shifted to her.

Pressing a kiss to his hair, she clutched his hand. "No. I'll look only when you say I can."

He pulled his hand free. "Go." The words came out in a whisper and he turned his head away.

It stung, but it wasn't unexpected. Swallowing hard, she slowly got up. "I'm going to sit outside the door only because you want time to grieve alone. But I love you, and I'm coming back in a bit." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and her voice cracked. "All I care is that you're alive to spend Forever with. I love you and couldn't care a goddamn rat's ass if you have one leg or two."

His face crumpled, and he reached up and wrapped his arms around to pull her down onto his chest. "You shouldn't cuss," he sniffled. And he didn't let go as he sobbed.

* * *

A few hours later, he sat up on the edge of the bed. She sat on his good side and kept a hand on his back in comfort. "Are you dizzy, or does it hurt?"

"It hurts less than before. I still feel it," he added quietly and stared down at heavily bandaged bump under the nightshirt.

"The phantom pain will go away in time." But he knew that.

Without another word, he reached for the two canes that Brigands had brought in. Then he hesitated, as if afraid. In bed one leg made little difference, but this would be when it really hit him what had happened to his body, that things would never be the same.

"Do you want me to go?" She stroked his back and glanced at the surgeon and Brigands. He was a prideful man, and learning how to walk again would be hard for him to have witnesses.

"No," he replied quietly. "Don't help - I have to learn to do it."

One of the hardest things ever done was pulling her hands away and letting him struggle to stand. But he did it all on his own, with Brigands and the surgeon ready to catch him. She stood.

"Go over there," Mark ordered and nodded toward the doorway.

"Let's get you back in bed. That was quite good," the surgeon praised.

But Mark set the canes forward, as if to try a step.

"That's enough for your first time up," the doctor protested.

The words fell on deaf ears because he took an awkward step, his body trembling from surgery or pain or fear...or maybe all three. Then he glanced at her and down at the canes that he set forward again.

"My lord," Brigands pleaded.

"I'm not getting in that goddamn bed until I figure out how to damn walk!" he snapped, quite breathless.

"Alright, alright," Brigands said in a placating tone. "Don't get your blood pressure up right after surgery."

The surgeon walked over to her. "Go talk some sense into him. He could make his leg swell being upright too long yet."

She took a step forward.

"No! Stay there," Mark snapped. His brow furrowed, and he struggled to balance taking another step.

"I'll come walk with you, and the doctor will stay - "

"No, you," he ordered.

And then it dawned. He wanted her as his goal. He wanted to walk to her. It pulled heartstrings so hard that tears welled and her voice grew thick. "I'll wait for you."

He looked up, and tears shimmered in his eyes at that promise. Fierce determination etched in every line of his face. Perspiration glistened on his brow by the time he finally made the last step. Then he looked down at her, vulnerability and fear in his eyes...almost as if his whole world hung on her reaction.

A smile broke free and she cupped his face. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered and let the tears fall. "I love you."

His lower lip quivered and a smile touched his lips. "I love you."

"Shall we get them out of here, and I'll give you a sponge bath?" she whispered.

So much relief flooded his eyes, as if realizing she would still love him the same with one leg. The dear man gave a strained smile. "High on pain meds first."

"Oh, of course." She set a hand on his back as he turned, his poor body trembling. "He needs something strong for the pain," she told the surgeon. "You're doing so much better than I expected, Mark. I was scared that you might be screaming in pain afterwards." For just being upright after major surgery, he did well. For having a leg cut off above the knee, he did amazing. She set a hand on his arm too and walked with him. He showed so much courage that her heart threatened to burst. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and he cracked a smile like he soaked it up.

"Set out a chair," he panted.

Hurrying forward, she moved the chair from beside the bed out a little. He must want the sponge bath here. She held the chair firmly as he let one cane drop and leaned a hand down on the seat to lower himself.

"Easy," the surgeon coaxed and took his arm.

"I know how to do it!" he snapped. "Goddamn taught amputees how after surgery," Mark muttered.

She gave the doctor an apologetic look as he administered more medicine. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'm going to help him clean up and then have him rest." When they left, she knelt beside him. "You know what to do to compensate, but I don't. So I'll need you to tell me and not bite my head off for doing or not doing something - "

"Where's the babe?" he growled.

It took a second to follow the change in topic. "Downstairs with Teresa. I have to go nurse him soon."

"Bring him up here," he ordered.

"Honey, you look exhausted. I don't know that him fussing in here - "

Those blue eyes flashed to her.

With a sigh, she left.

When she carried in Charles, who cooed and turned his head to smile at Mark, it was a surprise when Mark held out his arms. She gave over the babe.

Mark cradled him close on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the soft brown curls. Charles shoved a fist in his mouth and cuddled against his father. "Ah, my boy, what do you think of your broken papa?" he whispered.

Charles pushed himself back and fussed for her.

Tears shimmered in Mark's eyes as he handed the babe over.

"He's just hungry, Mark. He's too little to possibly think anything of your leg." She unbuttoned her dress as Charles tugged the dress and kicked his legs in excitement. The babe took to suckling with fervor, his little eyes rolling back in contentment as his belly filled.

He simply stared at Charles with a broken-hearted expression. "Will you take me as readily now too?" Those blue eyes shifted up to her.

Moving to kneel beside him while Charles still ate, she set his hand on her bared breast and held his eyes. "I won't not desire you to touch me. You're the same man that you were yesterday. If I have to come to you naked every night for a year before you'll have the courage to touch me, I will. You forget, my love, that I'm blind to what others see because I love you so much."

Those once strong fingers now trembled as he touched her cheek. Instinct said it wasn't pain that made him unsteady right now. "Then I'm thankful for your blindness," his face crumpled, "because what's left would shame you."

"No," she sniffled and rose to knees to hug him around Charles. "You're just frightened and sad and painful." Then she pulled back and brushed his tear away. "We're going to figure this out together. Just like walking, when you're told you can't do something, you damn well do it. When you want to quit, you look at me and I'll give you another push. Once you're healed in a month or so, we'll figure out how to make a prosthetic that will free both of your hands. I'll talk with the blacksmith and the lumberyard workers who build the machines to figure out how to make you a fake leg with a knee. You won't hurt anymore like before. Things will be so much better. People will never have to know you have a fake leg, Mark. You bear this because of me, and I'm not going to let it put barriers on you. If you want to climb a mountain, I'm going to damn well figure out how you can climb a mountain! If - "

Warm lips crushed down on hers, and he cradled her face in his palms. Then his forehead rested against hers and whispered, "You're what's going to keep me grounded through this."

She cupped her hand over his. "I'll be right here through it." Charles finished nursing and squirmed in her arms as Mark's eyes started to droop from the pain medicine. "Let me just wipe you down quick before you sleep." She set Charles on the floor and then got a basin and rag. Charles fussed. "Hold on, babe. I'll burp you in a minute."

"Tanya, see to him." Mark gripped the edge of the chair, as if trying to keep upright.

"Let's get you on the bed at least." She handed him the canes and helped the poor man to the bed.

He hissed in a breath and sank back against the pillows. "I lied, it does hurt. God, Tanya, see to him quick," he panted when Charles started screaming.

Scooping up the babe, she patted his back and moved to help Mark get his damp nightshirt off. "Honey, let me - " She froze when Charles let out a burp and her shoulder grew warm and wet. Looking down, she let out a deep sigh to keep calm as spit up ran down her front. Charles cooed.

"He can sleep with me while you wash." Mark tossed his nightshirt in the general direction of the laundry basket and laid down. Then he held out his arm.

She laid Charles in the crook of his arm along Mark's side and then got cleaned up. When she turned around, they were fast asleep together.

* * *

The next two days left Mark intermittently sedated to control the pain, and he battled a mild fever from surgery.

"How's my boy?" Mark reclined in bed and rested Charles on his chest, only relinquishing the babe for feedings and diaper changes. The babe lifted his head and smiled as Mark stroked the tiny cheek. "How's Mama?" His gaze turned to her.

"Wishing your fever would break." She wiped his brow with a cold rag again. "At least it's only a small one, which the professor swears is fine."

He nodded. "Common in major surgeries - "

A knock sounded at the bedchamber door. The professor stepped in. "It'd be wise to start exercises today."

She frowned in confusion. "What exercises?"

Mark looked away and cradled Charles closer. "To prevent muscle atrophy and hip contractures," he said in hushed tones.

Amputation exercises. That hadn't been mentioned in the medical textbooks. "I haven't heard of these. May I stay and learn how to help you do them?" It might be too soon - he hadn't let her stay to help with bandage changes or even let her touch that leg yet. He hadn't even let her see his leg without a blanket or something over it.

When he shook his head, she took Charles. It hurt to be pushed away every time he was about to deal with something hard. In the doorway, she turned with Charles on her hip. He laid in bed with so much shame and humiliation in every line of his face that it hurt to look at him. "If this was me, you wouldn't let me push you away. But with you, if I force myself, I know you'll just shut me out completely. You closed the door three days ago. I'm standing right on the other side waiting for it to open. And I'll keep standing there knocking even if it takes twenty years for you to get the courage to open it. You're not alone in this, Mark." Then she closed the door behind herself and sat in her now customary spot on the floor next to the door and waited with Charles.

The door opened a minute later and the surgeon stepped out. "He wants to talk to you." Then he held his arms out for Charles.

She got up and handed over the babe before stepping inside. Mark sat on the edge of the bed facing away. "Is everything alright?" Walking around the bed, she knelt quick upon seeing tears in his eyes and set her hand over his. "Do you hurt?"

"I'm so ashamed and scared. Putting it off is making it worse."

"Putting what off? What's wrong, honey?"

He started to pull off the nightshirt.

She caught his hand. "Wait. You don't have to show me anything. But if you do, being entirely naked the first time I see your leg is too much if you're nervous. There's sexuality that we have to deal with too, so small steps might be better."

His lip quivered and he shook his head. Then he jerked the nightshirt over his head and dropped it, his breaths coming slightly choppy with anxiety.

It came as a surprise to see the bandage around what was left of his leg and extend up to anchor around his waist several times. It looked terribly uncomfortable. When his hands darted down to remove the bandage, she stilled him. "Slow down. You're panicking and going too fast for yourself. It's alright." Those beautiful blue eyes dilated with fear. "Do you need pain medicine before the bandage change?"

"Just had some," he croaked, his voice straining from stress.

"Alright. I think you may need help removing the bandage. I don't know anything about this. Tell me where it hurts so I know where not to touch. I need you to teach me."

The distraction of teaching seemed to help his hands not tremble so hard. "The lower part being touched not even near the incision makes the nerves fire. The muscle..." he hesitated, "it isn't connected to a knee anymore to be taught. The muscles were severed half way, so they feel soft and will get softer as atrophy sets in."

"But the exercises will help prevent it some?"

"Some." He set her hand on the upper part of his thigh over the bandage and locked eyes with her. "Touching below here makes it hurt."

She nodded. "Do you hurt right now?"

"It always throbs, but it doesn't hurt right now."

Actually seeing him like this made it hit home what had happened and tears welled. "Mark? I'm scared. I'm scared if you're going to hurt for a long time or if there will be complications or if things are going to be hard for you that I don't even know about or if I'm supposed to be doing certain things. I know I'm not supposed to cry in front of you or tell you I'm scared because I'm supposed to be strong for you - "

He tugged her into a fierce hug and buried his face against her neck, simply holding tight for a moment. "You're my wife and are supposed to come to me. You're scared because you don't know. I don't know much more about this than you, but we'll figure it out." Then he pulled back and brushed away her tears. "You're a do-er who feels more in control if you can help. We watch for fever and swelling and redness and drainage just like any other surgery. Bandages have to be on at all times for a few weeks so everything heals as it should and swelling is controlled." As he melted into teaching as he removed the bandage, his courage seemed to grow. "Here, take the bandage roll while I lift my hip," he interrupted his teaching to lean a hand on the chair to lift the amputated side. "The wrapping goes up and down here to the wrap around..." His words faded into the background as his leg was finally uncovered.

It was like a bad dream seeing a huge part of him missing and a huge incision in its place, like at any second she'd blink and it'd be back.

"Tanya?" His nervous tone broke into the thoughts.

"I didn't expect to get emotional seeing it," she sniffled and gave his hand a squeeze.

"It's normal," he said softly.

"I wish I could make it all go away for you." Sobs threatened and wouldn't do him any good. "I have to go check on Charles. I'll be right back." She got to the doorway.

"Please," he begged, "I can't chase after you." Unshed tears thickened his voice.

His words stopped her.

"I know you feel guilty, and it's sometimes harder watching someone go through something than doing it yourself. If I'd lost you and Charles, or you had been harmed because I didn't have a chance to absorb this evil from you, I'd be going mad. I wasn't there to protect you from the rape, and I get so much rage because of it. I know the guilt you feel, but I don't want you to feel it. There has not been a moment where I've regretted this or blamed you. I'm going to be alright because I have you. You need to forgive yourself, Tanya. I don't know how because I haven't been able to for what happened to you, but I want you to."

But the guilt was unbearable. Seeing him chopped apart was horrific. She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands to try to quiet the sobs. "I shouldn't have let him mutilate you either. There had to be something we didn't try. There had to be a surgeon somewhere who would've been able to fix your knee. I shouldn't have let him cut off your leg. I should've protected you." Words faded when the sobs took over.

"Tanya, come," he sniffled. "Please."

She'd done this to him, and the guilt was a thousand times more awful now than ever before. "You have every right to keep me shut out. You - "

A hand leaned hard on her shoulder, and she looked up in surprise.

Mark struggled to sit beside her, landing a bit hard on his bottom for the last couple inches. He hissed in a breath of pain. But then he pulled her into his lap and held tight. "Stop it. This is not your fault." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"You're not supposed to be the one hugging."

"Hush, woman. I'm not a good patient and feel better looking after my wife anyways. Don't move your feet, or you'll kick my stump."

"It's not a stump," she protested.

"Then what is it?"

"It's perfect, just like your other leg. It's your badge of honor. We'll call it Hero." She brushed at her eyes, feeling so much better in his arms.

A soft chuckle answered. "Alright, my lady love. We'll call it Hero if it makes you happy. No more tears. I'm content with my lot if you'll still have me."

"Of course I will! What kind of thing is that to say?" The tears started again.

"Woman, I know you will. Enough waterworks," he said crisply, seeming to know a gruff manner is what was needed to calm the emotional rollercoaster. "We are tasked with figuring out how to get up being you insisted on being a damsel in distress. I daresay I've earned my new name - few men would love a woman so much he'd hop across a room naked and fresh from surgery to rescue his lady love from drowning in her own tears. Go fetch my nightshirt. Glad to know you not only enjoy making me speechless and having heart attacks but making an arse of myself naked too."

She cupped his beard and pressed a kiss to his lips with a smile. "A very precious rescue it was that you were so worried you came over naked." A breathless sigh escaped. He was so beautiful in many ways.

He cleared his throat. "Go before you make me weep like an old woman," he huffed. When she got up, a playful swat hit her bottom.

With a giggle, she looked over her shoulder and snatched his nightshirt from the bed. "You don't seem at all drugged."

"God bless your grandfather - tree bark works wonders without the terrible side effects of pain meds. Although, I might need some food because I have a stomachache from the four sticks."

"Four?! Grandfather said not more than two for patients."

"The professor is somewhat familiar with the drug and has used up to four on large men after major surgery. Thank you." He took the nightshirt and pulled it on.

Kneeling beside him, she looked at his poor leg. Somehow it didn't even resemble what had been. "Does it make your other hip hurt? I seems that not having equal weight would tilt your hips and put more strain on your other side."

"Not so far." He guided her hand down on the bare flesh of his upper thigh. "You can touch," he said in all seriousness.

Just a soft touch for fear of hurting him. "It's softer than I imagined." She frowned. "It...it doesn't feel the same anymore. Is some of it swelling?" Her gaze met his.

He nodded. "It's very swollen right now. It will eventually look significantly thinner than the other side from the atrophy and also because the other thigh will get stronger having to compensate."

She shrugged. "All that matters is it heals so you don't fall ill. I suppose your arms will get stronger needing to use canes." A shy smile tugged.

A hearty laugh burst out. "You have an insatiable weakness for strong arms."

The grin spread. "Then it works out well that I'll want you even more as a result of your leg."

"Yes, I suppose it does." His eyes twinkled underneath the veil of pain. "Alright, how do we do this?" He made it up onto his knee and accepted her help with the canes.

"Give resistance right here." He set her hands on his thigh and then laid on his side in bed.

"Are you sure you want me to help? You don't have to let me do everything all at once."

"The longer it's put off, the more I'm going to panic about letting you see."

She held firm as he tried to flex his thigh forward for the exercises. "Your hip is shifting like you're using that instead." Holding his hip to lock it steady, she used that leverage to give his thigh resistance. He almost sent her tumbling over him. "Alright," she laughed, "even your half muscles are stronger than me. Here." Getting up, she dug out his pants suspenders and tied it to the bedpost. "Here, scoot down and we'll put this over your thigh for resistance. I still think resistance is too much this soon after surgery." But when she glanced up, he looked so tired. "Maybe we should take a nap."

"I'm tired of being tired." He rolled onto his back with a sigh. "I get tired just trying to get across the room."

"Because you're using muscles in ways not used before and you're still fresh from surgery. It'll get easier. Let me get the surgeon to help bandage you quick."

"Fuck the bandages," he muttered to himself and yanked a pillow out from behind his head with sudden anger, hurling it across the room. It was like a switch flipped and the grief and rage suddenly unleashed. He snatched the glass of water off the nightstand and whipped it against the far wall. It shattered into dozens of pieces as he covered his face with his hands, lying flat on his back. His chest heaved in a temper that died as fast as it'd come.

She sank onto the edge of the bed and waited. He needed to have outbursts like this. "It will take time to accept the new normal. Until then, I have a stack of ugly teacups that you can smash."

He snorted and then brushed at his eyes. "I'll clean up the glass."

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll get the bandages from him, and we can wrap Hero ourselves."

That name won a watery laugh from him.

"Like this?" She carefully pulled the bandage taught and then did another slow wrap around the end of his thigh. He only interfered to pull a little tighter or help smooth the wrap.

When he nodded, he lifted his hips for her to go around his waist. "You're gentler than him or I," he said quietly while his eyes squinted a bit in pain. "It feels good when you ease the bandage on and then graze your fingers over to keep it smooth."

She glanced up and caught his eye. It was the closest he'd admit to needing her to do the changes not because it physically felt good, but because it felt good on his heart to have this intimacy, this safety of being vulnerable and still loved. "I'm glad that you're letting me do this. I felt a bit crazy not being able to help you with anything."

"Kind of how I want to help when you're getting mastitis from the scars."

It made more sense now why he was so eager to help her nurse or tend to the mangled breast - it was a way of helping shoulder the burden, of building a stronger marriage.

* * *

A couple days later, she returned with a lunch tray and nearly dropped it. "What are you doing?!" she screeched.

He startled with a syringe in one hand and an ink dropper in the other as he leaned over his leg. "Just a tattoo, woman."

"What?! You have a fresh wound, and why the hell are you getting a ta...too..." The words faded when she stormed over and saw what he tattooed just a few inches above the end of his leg, facing him.

 _Rescuing, he earned this cane. Protecting, he won her heart._

The words she had ingrained on his old cane. Her throat grew tight.

"I hate looking at this damn ugly thing. I won't hate it if it's a part of you," he said in a thick voice without looking up.

"I won't deny you if you want it, but maybe it'd be better until it's healed before you introduce a new infection risk," she said carefully.

"You don't try to make it bleed. I sterilized even the ink and am not going another goddamn day trapped in this damn house on those damn canes..." His voice broke and faded away. He kept his eyes firmly locked on dotting the needle into the flesh and then dropping ink over the punctures.

"May I do a letter?"

He looked up and nodded. "Would you do the rest? In your handwriting?" Those eyes were so big with hope.

Minutes later, she finished with a line underneath.

 _Your Tanya_

She frowned when tears shimmered in his eyes. "Mark?"

His lower lip quivered, and his finger stroked just below her name.

"Don't you like it? The ink is still wet. I can take it off - "

"No." He caught her hand, his gaze still on her permanent mark on his body. "Don't change anything," he whispered in a thick voice. "It's perfect."


	42. Chapter 42

"Do you want it pinned?" She knelt before him at the side of the bed with the sewing box.

The first time of wearing pantaloons a week after surgery, and he looked at the pantleg in disgust. In the blink of an eye, he snatched the scissors from the box and chopped off the pantleg at the knee. Then he dropped the scissors back in the box, his nostrils flared with rage.

She sighed. "Really, Mark? Now you have to let me hem them so they don't run."

He threw a dark look. "Not that it matters. The goddamn thing could run almost all the way up."

"Hush. You still have more than half of your thigh." She set to hemming.

"Lot of fucking good it does," he muttered under his breath.

Glancing up, she continued sewing. He needed to feel the anger right now and needed her to be patient. "Would you want crutches? The canes look rather difficult to use."

"Just how difficult?" he growled.

Her hand froze for a split instant. Surely he hadn't seen her take the canes in the hall this morning and mimick how he uses them for a better understanding of what he was going through, for a way to figure out how to make things easier for him. "I'm just saying - "

"Difficult enough to stumble?"

He had seen. Her eyes flew up to his cold glare. "Oh god, you have a wife who is trying to figure out if there's something better for you to use. So spank me," she replied in sarcasm.

He leaned forward and gave a swat to her bottom through her skirts. "That's for your cheek, woman," he snapped.

Turning a defiant chin up to him, she held his glare. "You want cheek? I'm just about ready to drag you down those damn stairs. Brigands and Teresa are family and won't think a thing of you coming to the table to have dinner with us! It'd do you a hell of a lot of good to get out of this stupid room! You need to get outside in the Spring sun! You need to sit with your son in the grass and watch him explore the world! You're holed up in here - "

His fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he hissed in her face, "You think if anyone sees me like this, rumors won't fly? We'd be goddamn destitute within a week. The poor Englishwoman chained to the cripple? I leave the goddamn house, and we're in shambles. I stay in this damn room so no one catches a glimpse through the windows, so you and Charles aren't ruined!"

She jerked out of his grasp. "People are not like that here! This is not England's Society! There are dozens of men without limbs at the lumberyard - "

"And most of them are beggars now!" he roared.

"No!" she shouted. "The ones who don't accept boundaries have figured out how to keep jobs! They live! You lost a leg, Mark, not both of your arms! There's no reason why you still can't be a surgeon! There's no reason why this has to change your life for the worse!"

"I was goddamn fired this morning!" He bowed his head, as if he hadn't meant to let that out.

Her heart stilled. "What do you mean? Price said he'd give you two weeks to recover - "

"Two weeks since I took to bed, not since surgery," he said quietly.

She jerked the needle from his pants and stuck it in the sewing box before shooting to her feet.

"Where are you going?"

Grabbing a shawl, she stuck pins in her hair to put it up. "You gave me equal partner rights, so I'm going there to get our jobs back."

"You weren't fired," he whispered with so much shame.

Her reflection in the small mirror paled and she turned to him.

"I'll get a desk job at the bank." He kept his head down.

She dropped to her knees and touched his cheek.

Humiliated tears glistened in his eyes. "I won't shame you," he whispered. "I'll find a way to provide for our family - "

"No." Her hands shook with rage. "Medicine is what you love. You fight for it, you hear me? You'll open your own clinic - "

"With what money?" he whispered and met her eyes. "There's not enough money to even finish the house now. We have this cabin, and income here as a surgeon won't sustain us. We have just enough money to get by for another three weeks with necessities until I'm able to travel for work. I don't know that I can give you the life you deserve."

"Stop it. You're in pain and melancholy. Look at me." She cupped his face in her hands. "Do you love me?"

"More than anything."

"Then fight for me. When they put chains on you, turn into my bear and break them."

"I can't go bouncing in a carriage, Tanya. The pain would be too much, and the jostling could break open the wounded arteries and veins. There's no way Price would come if I summoned him to argue for my job."

"Then send your partner."

His eyebrows shot up. "I'm not going to send you to argue with him. He's disrespectful to you as it is."

"Mark, I grew up being disrespected. It's nothing new."

"Tanya, no."

She got to her feet and tied her shawl. "You don't want me to what?"

"Go!"

"Alright." She grinned and pecked a kiss on his cheek. A spring came to her step on the way to the door.

"No, that wasn't a command to leave!" He turned on the bed to look at her as he scrambled to reach his canes.

She stopped in the doorway. "Husband, sometimes there's nothing wrong with a woman wielding the sword to fight the dragon."

"Tanya, he'll be ruthless and tear you apart." He worked himself to a stand. "Please, don't."

"I do say, I'm a little offended. Do you not recall when I went in cannons blasting? That turned out well."

"Bringing in lawyers is a hell of a lot different than you going to argue with an egotistical, machagonistic employer!"

Blowing him a kiss, she cracked a smile. "You taught me well how to hold up to a man's temper and demand respect. I'll take Brigands as an escort, but I'll be alright, Mark."

"Tanya, please," he begged and came over as fast as he could. "I don't think he'd physically hurt you, but he will shred you apart. This is my fight. Just let it go," he pleaded.

"You've fought plenty of fights for me. We don't have the luxury of time for you to heal and then go talk to him. He probably already has interviews for your replacement. I will fight this for you."

"I know, but Tanya..."

"At the very least, I get to tell him I quit."

He dropped one cane and caught her hand. "Tanya, your contract says two months' notice. That means going on calls in the middle of the night with whatever man he deems as my replacement."

She stilled. Oh god, he was right.

"Let me handle this. There's potential that if he's set off, he'll pick an arse to work with you. At the very worst, I will come with you on night calls to make sure you're safe. Don't go. I don't need protection from him."

"I know you don't, I just wanted to do this for you. I didn't think about it that I have to be a nurse still..." She sighed and looked down at his hand clutching to keep her here. Then she met his eyes. "But every minute we stay, he's that much closer to finding a replacement. You're cheaper than any other surgeon, and he loves his money. Let me try striking a bargain with him. You've invested too much to give up. It's a tactic to get us where he wants because he knows you're too good to let go."

"Bargain how?" he demanded.

The one thing that galled Price the most.

"Tanya, do not give up your salary," he ordered, as if reading her mind. "He'll lose the little respect he has for you. Don't," he pleaded. His brow grew damp from being upright so long.

"Come sit so you don't hurt." She picked up the cane on the floor and helped him to bed. Tucking him in, she held his gaze. "It's not a sin for the wife to do what's for the better of the family. It doesn't have to always be you doing all the providing." Then she brushed a kiss over his cheek.

"I don't want to be this burden," he said quietly and shame danced in his eyes. "I don't want to be the invalid that you make sacrifices and provide for."

She shook her head and smiled. "You of all people know that seeing your family happy isn't a sacrifice. Providing for you temporarily while you heal isn't providing for you forever - that's marriage, Mark. There's a difference, my dear." But it didn't seem to change his mind. Her hand cupped his on her cheek. "Let me fight this for me then. Let me learn I can stand up to a man without you there, that I'm as worthy as any man."

He sighed and pulled her hand down to hold in his lap as he searched her eyes. "You keep your head high. Use your quick wit to twist his words to your advantage because he will be twisting yours. Do not give up your salary. You have proven your worth - make him see it. If he gets unreasonable, leave." Worry wrinkled his brow.

"I'll be alright."

"Stay with Brigands. Most of the men in the yard are good, but I don't know the newcomers. For God's sakes, don't let your hair down while on the road. And - "

"Mark, I made it twenty-nine years on the streets without you. I know how to be careful." She smiled and touched his cheek.

Those blue eyes locked with hers in all seriousness. "You weren't mine to look after before. If you're not back within two hours, I'm coming." Then he brought her hand to his lips without breaking the gaze. There was something precious and raw about that gesture - him giving the freedom to go fight in a man's world while reminding that he would be in the shadows to come to the rescue should it be needed.

"Thank you, Mark," she replied softly. "You make me argumentative by having such liberties." An embarrassed flush crept up, but it was good for him to know the freedoms he gave - that few other men would - weren't unappreciated.

"It makes you a strong woman, my lady love, not argumentative."

* * *

Brigands helped her down from the carriage less than two hours later. She stormed up the steps to the front door and then spun on her heel to march back down. Retelling it to Mark right now wasn't a wise idea.

"Where are you going, my lady?"

"If I go in the house, I'll break something!" She stormed down the dirt road. It didn't matter where she ended up, just the rapid pace of burning off steam helped with the anger.

"My lady, the master will worry and try to come after you should he see the carriage but we don't go in," he called.

True. Stomping back toward the house, she stormed up the steps and slammed open the front door. She stopped only for a moment in surprise. Mark sat on the sofa with Charles while Teresa darned socks in the rocking chair. "You're up."

"How did it go?" The blasted man set down Charles on the floor to play and tried to stand for her entrance.

"Sit down!" she snapped, her temper shooting to the sky again upon the question. "He's an arrogant, boarish, brainless bastard - " Her arm got caught in her cape. Brigands grabbed it to help free her as she tried to fling it off in a fit. "And I need a gun!" She spun around. There had to be a gun in the house somewhere, even left behind by the late physician. Maybe in the closet. She marched to it.

"A gun? What happened?"

She dug behind the capes in search of it. "He will only reinstate you if you return to the clinic tomorrow!" she shrieked. "The idiot knows you can't travel for at least a couple more weeks! He's going to hire some Neanderthal barber this week otherwise, and won't accept my resignation until I'm back working in the clinic full-time!" There. A shotgun. That would work. She snatched it and flipped it open. No bullets, dammit.

"Why do you need a gun?" Mark's voice came closer from behind the door.

"If his lumber machine is riddled with holes, the men can't work and he won't have need for a surgeon tomorrow!" She tried to push the barrel shut. Maybe flip it. Or pull. "Ugh! How does this work?!"

It yanked out of her hands and Mark held it away. He stood there leaning hard on one cane. "You're not going to go shooting things, or you'll be in jail for property damage. Settle down and talk to me."

She reached for the gun, but he held it away. "Give me the gun!" she demanded and stomped her foot.

He chuckled. "My goodness, I've never seen you have a tantrum. Sit down like a sane woman, and we'll figure this out."

"Ugghhh!" She stormed up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door, needing some time alone to calm down. How dare that pig suggest that Mark make a five-mile ride just a week after surgery to be upright all day doing surgery and attending to patients! The horrid man didn't have a care that Mark had just lost his entire leg! This room wasn't big enough for productive pacing. Whipping open the door so fast that it banged against the wall, she stomped down the stairs.

Mark stood at the bottom, leaning a hand on the railing and holding himself up with two canes in the other hand. A slightly amused smile touched his lips. And a hint of pain creased the corners of his eyes.

She stopped on the bottom step to be eye level with him, her heart thundering with rage and her hands fisted at her sides. "You cannot bounce around for five miles in the morning, be on your feet all day and then bounce back at night only to do it all over again the next day!"

His eyebrows rose. "You do have a set of lungs. I'm standing right here and can hear you fine." The corner of his mouth curled up as he tried not to smile. "Come sit."

"No! I'm not sitting and talking about this! You can't do it! Give me the damn gun!"

He leaned his arm on the railing to look her in the eyes, as if placating a child. "I'm not giving you the gun. I know you're upset - he pisses me off too. I think he's an arse half the time just because he has the ability to be one. Come sit. My leg hurts being upright too long." He took a cane in each hand.

"No." Her lip quivered and dropped her gaze, half feeling like a pouting child. "I promised you wouldn't have to go out until you have a prosthesis so no one would know you have a fake leg. I was supposed to fix this, not make it worse."

He leaned against the railing for balance and tilted her chin up. "No, you were supposed to go learn to stand up for yourself, to not fear men. I'd say you probably accomplished that well today. I didn't expect you to salvage my job. He's an arse. It's a fact. You can't reason with men like him. Come, I have an idea." He slipped her hand around his arm as he used the canes to get to the sofa. "You'll have to forgive my manners. The sofa is small, and I'm not too good at not dropping when I try to sit - I don't want to crush you."

"For heaven's sake, you're wounded. I don't need you to stand and hurt fresh from surgery so I can sit first." She held his arm to try to help him lower himself, but the poor thing still dropped the last bit.

He closed his eyes and hissed in a breath, clenching his fist on the head of one cane in a white-knuckled grip.

She eased down beside him and stroked across his upper thigh in attempt to stop some of the pain. "You're too tall for much of the furniture, and it's making it awkward to sit. What if I work with the carpenter in the lumberyard to make you a chair that's taller so you have somewhere to sit - "

"No," he said breathlessly. "It'll get better in a few days." He leaned his head back against the wall. "If you stop, I might cry." His eyes opened a minute later when he seemed to be less painful. He stared down at her hand. "Does it bother you to touch it?"

She frowned. "No. Why would you ask that?"

"Because I hate touching it." The words came out solemn and quiet.

"Because right now all it does is give you pain. Oh!" She carefully got up and ran out the front door. The crutches the blacksmith had made to support Mark's weight were in the buggy. They were heavy to be strong enough, but not so heavy that Mark would have trouble himself. She lugged the crutches up the steps and peeked around the front door.

He sat on the sofa with raised eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"Close your eyes and wait a minute." She propped the crutches up and sat beside him. "Alright, open."

He looked and didn't smile or change expression at all. "Tanya, I'm too heavy - "

"No, we made these special." She got up and stood with a crutch before him. "The blacksmith said this would hold you. They're a bit heavy, so you might need to wait a few more days to use them after surgery, but when you're just standing, your hands will be freed up." She couldn't suppress the grin. "Teresa does a lot of sewing, and we think we have a way to make good pads so under your arms won't get sore. We needed the crutches first for sizing, but we can make the pads in a day."

He worked his way to a stand and accepted both crutches, letting the canes clatter to the floor in a forgotten pile.

"He used the canes to estimate height." She stepped back and looked. "Do they feel alright?"

The man gave a small nod. And then he took a step. And another. The crutches allowed him to swing his weight and not wobble or stumble trying to maintain balance. He did a lap around the room in seconds rather than minutes and wasn't breathless when he stopped before her.

He bowed his head. And a tear splashed onto his shirt.

Tears welled seeing him have some freedom back. When she stepped forward to hug him, he was able to balance while wrapping one arm around. He slowly let go of the other crutch and hugged tight with both arms. It was the first time since losing his leg - he stood all on his own and was able to hug.

He buried his face against her neck. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice so thick with emotion.

A soft sob of joy burst from her lips. "The only boundaries are the ones you let them put on you. In a few weeks, no one will ever have to know."

The crutches aided in helping him sit and get up and even hop up the stairs. He seemed eager to go anywhere and everywhere in the house.

"Are you certain you should be lifting them yet? They're heavy."

"They can't weigh more than Charles on each side," he said quickly when she blocked his path from trying to go down the stairs.

"Let me see if your leg is swollen. You haven't been upright this long yet, and it's not good to overdo it." She bent down and carefully felt the bandage under the short pant leg. "Mark, you need to lie down. The bandage is getting tight from swelling.

"But - "

"No."

"It - "

"Get in bed. I'm not arguing with you," she ordered. "Behave or I'll take the crutches away until dinner."

He scowled. "I'm not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one," she replied with patience. "You wouldn't let a patient go traipsing around like this." She set a hand on his arm to get him to turn around to go to bed.

"I'm tired of being in bed," he growled and didn't move.

With a sigh, she rubbed her brow. "Honey, you're too large for the sofa. Go to bed, and I'll spoonfeed you."

He hesitated. "And a sponge bath?"

"Yes! Go!"

That won a grin, and he turned and hobbled into the bedchamber.

"No, not a child at all," she muttered under her breath and followed him in.

"Heard that!"

"Good." She closed the door as he sat on the bed. "I'm going to feed Charles lunch while you get ready for your bath. Afterwards, I'll bring up your lunch and then bathe from being on the road - "

"In the kitchen?"

She hesitated. "You haven't been interested in my bathing habits all week."

"I didn't feel up to sitting in a chair while you bathe in the tub." He pulled off his shirt and tossed it toward the laundry basket.

"You know, you're only getting away with this general vicinity throwing because you're injured. I'm not putting up with it once you can walk over to the laundry bin."

"Yes, Tanya." When she threw him a look, he smiled.

"I think we should go back to tree bark - whatever the surgeon gave you for pain control today is making you too rambunctious. Be good. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"I'll miss you."

When she turned at the door at that phrase, she gave a wary look. "If you weren't drugged and chopped open, I'd say you were flirting, husband."

"All men flirt when convalescing," he retorted with a rakish grin.

"Mm," she replied with a cocked eyebrow. "Stay in bed so you're not sore later."

When she returned, he reclined in bed shirtless and chewed on a tree bark stick. The sheet was pulled up to his waist, and he gave a lazy smile.

"A little less tree bark might be good - at least pain will keep you from being too active." She set the pitcher of hot water on the nightstand.

The man pulled out an ice pack from under the sheets. "Numbing works wonders."

"Are you watching that you're not causing frostbite on a fresh wound?" She walked over.

"I'm a surgeon. Give me some credit." He caught her hand and pulled out the tree bark as his lips met hers. "Lie naked with me," he whispered against her lips and tugged at her buttons.

"Mark, you're in no condition - "

"To have sex? No, but there's no harm in lying together." He guided her hand down to between his legs.

She frowned and pulled back. This wasn't like him. "Mark, did you take other meds?"

"No." His hand wrapped behind her head to pull her down for another kiss.

She ducked and stepped out of reach as it dawned. "You want to end up having sex tonight because you'll be even more afraid the longer we wait."

"God forbid that it's you made me feel so good today that right now I'm not afraid of your reaction," he snapped and sat back. "But thank you for reminding me that I'm lacking and must be reacting out of fear."

"That's not fair," she said calmly. "This is a complete turnabout from what you've been like, and as your wife it's my job to make sure you aren't rushing into anything that you aren't ready for. You just let me see and touch your leg. No one would jump to making love next." She sat on the edge of the bed when he looked away. "I don't find you lacking. I don't know what the right pace is for any of this, but I know this doesn't feel right. You're not even acting like yourself. You aren't pushy like this."

He ran a hand through his hair. "If I don't act nervous, you won't have time to think about how it's not going to be the same."

"Of course it's not going to be exactly the same - it'll be better. We'll figure out together how to make sure you're comfortable and please each other. You're afraid that I won't desire you anymore?" She frowned and scooted closer.

His cheeks burned pink and he bit his lower lip, a self-conscious gesture never having witnessed him do. "I know it makes you feel safer if our chests touch, and that it'll be hard to tolerate you sitting in my lap for a few months until my leg is fully healed. That just leaves me on top of you. I had trouble with balancing to not hurt my knee when I did have a leg. I don't know that I can balance without a leg in a way that'll still please you. And I don't want to talk about it."

"But you know what? We need to talk. We had no difficulty pleasing each other when my scarring was too bad to consummate."

"That's different."

"No, it's not. The worst case is we have to get creative." She gave a mock gasp and covered her mouth. "Like make love standing up while you have your prosthesis on. Maybe even in daylight!"

He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and swatted her hip. "Hush, woman."

"Yes, Mark," she whispered against his lips. "You worry so much. If I'd lost my leg, you wouldn't want me to be afraid of making love."

"No."

"So, it's no different being it's you." She brushed her lips over his. "I desire you even more because I love you more today than yesterday, and I'll love you more tomorrow. I want to help share whatever burdens your leg brings because we're in this marriage together. You help me with my breast and the scars, and I help you with your leg. I could just as easily say that I'm afraid of the marriage bed because my breast looks horrid, but I don't because I trust you that you don't see ugliness. A breast is female sexuality; a leg isn't for either gender. So, husband, I'm the only one with reason for nervousness in the bedchamber." She cocked an eyebrow.

He had the grace to blush. "Yes, but it's also a weakness, and a woman - especially one with your history - wants to feel protected."

"For heaven sakes, it can take more than brute strength to protect. You're a fine man, Mark. And it doesn't matter what others say because I'm the one wed to you." She pulled off her dress and tossed it aside. "I'll be brave if you promise that you'll eventually be brave too." Her cheeks burned as she crawled across the bed on her knees and guided his hand down. Setting her hands on his shoulders, she offered the mangled breast. "You'll still pleasure me, Mark." Her face burned in embarrassment. "Take me however you wish to convince yourself that I still want you."

His eyes searched hers, clearly surprised and humbled. "You're beautiful," he whispered and closed his lips over the physical evidence of her courage and strength.

* * *

She laid on her side a bit later, too embarrassed to face him.

His arm slipped around and a chest warmed her back as his cheek rested on hers. "Thank you, sweetheart. I know it took courage and you're embarrassed to have let me pleasure you without any reciprocation, but it helped - very much - to see how much I still please you."

"The whole house probably knows," she mumbled, utterly mortified. It hadn't dawned when the offer was made that Brigands and Teresa were awake to hear everything. Charles probably had been awoken from his nap in the room next door.

"They were young once." His hand slipped between her thighs from behind and gave soft strokes that won soft gasps of pleasure from her. "Rest, my lady love. I exhausted you and wish to nap with my brave wife." His beard brushed her cheek as he gave a kiss and sent her to the stars. Then he caught her in a warm embrace as she came down and fell asleep in the safety of his arms.

Something in him changed after that, as if it'd given him courage. He didn't go out of his way to keep his leg covered, and whenever he changed the bandages, he readily relinquished without breaking pace in conversation when she'd step over and do it for him. He often stayed close, and sat beside her or set a hand on her back or had some kind of physical contact whenever in the room with Brigands or Teresa. Sometimes it hurt, though, that this strong man now needed a safety blanket. In time it would go away. Hopefully, for his sake.

Low and behold, his letter to Mr. Price saying if he came down with infection and then touched patients in surgery, it'd be fatal to all caused Mr. Price to pause. The lumberyard owner allowed another week for Mark's recovery. Two weeks after major surgery wasn't much, but that road could be crossed when the time came.

* * *

One evening when he finished unbuttoning the back of her dress to get ready for bed, his hand stayed a moment longer than necessary, and he stroked the back of her neck.

Not now. Not an attempt at intimacy now. Every muscle tensed. His body wasn't healed enough yet, but if this was the first time he felt ready to make love, his timing couldn't be worse.

She stepped away and took off her dress, pretending to not notice. This was the first 'womanly time' since marriage. Did wives tell their husbands? Were they supposed to sleep in a separate bed? So many rumors, but perhaps none of them were true. But outright telling a husband didn't seem at all proper. If only Mama was still around. She'd know. But perhaps Teresa would know what Englishmen expected.

He stepped up from behind and moved to help take off the chemise as he brushed a kiss over her bare shoulder.

Dear god, he'd see the blood. She pulled away. "I have a headache. Just go to bed and turn off the light."

"Do you want me to fetch a cold rag or some tree bark?"

Tree bark for the pain would be wonderful, but maybe it wasn't safe to take for this. Some medicines made bleeding worse.

He stepped closer on his crutches and stroked her temple, his brow furrowed in concern. "You're a bit warm."

"I just need to sleep."

With a final reluctant glance, he turned and made his way to the bed. She shed the clothes fast and balled them up to hide the blood before pulling on a nightdress. The menstrual rag was held in place by one of Mark's belts tied around her waist that he thankfully didn't notice missing yet. This makeshift contraption would hold out well enough until he fell asleep, and then she could lay a towel on the bed just in case. Was one supposed to bleed more after having childbirth or less or the same? One of his medical books at the clinic would likely say. He was the only physician around for miles, but this surely wasn't a topic to discuss with a husband. But there wasn't another physician around, unless the professor stopped in tomorrow by chance.

She walked over once he was in bed and climbed in the other side and laid on her back.

He turned off the light and scooted closer. "Come, woman. You always fall asleep on me," he grunted and slipped an arm underneath to rest her head on his shoulder and her leg draped over his.

She pulled back. Sleeping that close would surely allow him to feel the bulky rag. "Not tonight, Mark," she said gently and rolled away.

"Are you angry with me?" He followed and draped an arm around to spoon.

Jerking her hips away, she turned onto her back again. "Mark."

He pulled away in the dark in silence, leaving cold sheets in his place.

"Honey, I just don't feel well and don't want to cuddle tonight." She reached out and touched his back.

He rolled onto his back and took her hand. "You've never not wanted to cuddle, even when you've been ill. Promise that if it's because of my leg, you'll tell me." Self-consciousness flowed through his tone.

"No, it's not that."

A deep sigh released from him as he let go of her hand. "Good night," he whispered.

She rolled toward him and cuddled against his arm. "I just don't want to be touched tonight." It sounded exactly like what he feared. "I don't feel well."

"Tell me how so I can help. Is it a migraine?"

"No. I'm alright, I just need to sleep."

* * *

She got up in the middle of the night to change the rag and sneak a towel into bed. When she tiptoed back into the dark room, the sheets rustled and were turned down for her.

"You never get up in the middle of the night for the washroom. Let me check you." He sounded wide awake like perhaps he'd woken up a few minutes ago when she'd left.

"I just drank too much water. Go to sleep."

* * *

The next morning, she peeked under the covers. Her nightgown had stained. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep yet when Mark got dressed and slipped out. The nursery door opened next door. He must be getting Charles up. The babe fussed, likely for breakfast.

Shooting out of bed, she tore off the soiled clothes and pulled on a fresh chemise just as Mark came back in.

He blinked. "Oh. You're up? Um, Charles is hungry."

"I heard. I'm coming." She pulled on a dress and slipped past him before questions came. "Why don't you go on downstairs? I'll start making breakfast in a minute." And hide the laundry somewhere.

In the kitchen, she stood at the stove cooking bacon and flatcakes. Charles practiced trying to crawl on the other side of the kitchen near Mark.

"Are you feeling better?"

She winced at that fib. "A bit. Must be a touch of something."

His crutches clunked across the floor and an arm started to wrap around her waist. Catching it at the last minute to keep him from feeling the belt, she guided it away. "You'll burn your hand if you bump the skillet."

"What's going on?" His tone held little patience.

"I just don't feel - "

"The truth," he growled. "If pleasuring you the other day was so distasteful, have the decency to tell me to my face rather than lie, Tanya."

"It has nothing to do with your leg." But she busied with flipping the bacon to avoid turning to reveal burning cheeks.

"Then tell me what, because right now it sounds a hell of a lot like it is."

"It's just my - " She spun around to blurt it out, but Brigands and Teresa walked in. Whirling around to the stove again, she ducked her head.

"Would you watch the bacon? I need to talk to my wife." He didn't wait for an answer before tucking her arm in his. Then he walked around the table but was trapped by Charles laying on the floor.

She knelt and picked him up before reluctantly following Mark to the sitting room.

He turned. "Tell me what's going on," he demanded.

Cuddling the babe close, she kissed his soft curls and glanced up at Mark. This was so embarrassing.

With a huge sigh, he met her eyes. "If it's indigestion, we can try medicine and a bland diet. If it's a urinary infection - "

Her face grew hotter with each word he uttered. It was one thing to treat a patient but another to tell the husband physician. "It's nothing. It's just my time." She bowed her head to cuddle Charles and hide from the embarrassment.

Silence for a moment. "Is it the first since Charles?"

Oh god, not questions. Without looking up, she nodded.

"It's a bit early considering how underweight you were and you're still breastfeeding, but I suppose your body must be ready to handle it. Is it more than in the past?"

Again, a nod without meeting his eyes.

He sighed. "Tanya, I wish you would've told me. It's a normal womanly function, and there's no reason to be embarrassed. How long has it been?"

"Since yesterday morning. And no, you cannot do an exam."

"It's blood, not the plague. Why Society teaches women to be ashamed of it is beyond me," he muttered. "How much are you bleeding, and are you having pain?"

She laid in bed a few minutes later and pulled down the chemise, utterly mortified.

"Here. We're going to monitor the bleeding, and if it keeps up at this rate by nightfall, we'll try some herbs to slow it down. In the meantime, let's see if we can control the pain because sometimes that irritation can exacerbate bleeding." He pulled up the chemise and laid a hot, wet compress across her belly. "Does your back hurt too?"

She nodded.

He picked up his belt laying on the bed. "Sit up." When she did, he put on the belt low on her hips and then tucked the rags in them. "Now try one tree bark and see if it offers any relief. Your grandfather mentioned that menstruating women often need two. Let's make sure you don't get side effects first."

Within an hour, she curled up on her side in bed from pain when Mark walked in.

"Is it not helping?" He hurried forward.

"It is. I'm usually vomiting from the pain."

"Oh, my girl." He hobbled over to his bag and got out another tree bark. "No headache, dizziness, chest pain, shortness of breath - "

"No. You've only been gone ten minutes."

"It's never safe to assume in this profession. I'll ask Teresa to bring up some more milk - I have trouble with stomach pains, so I suspect tree bark might result in stomach ulcers. Do you want a backrub?"

She shook her head and chewed on the bark. The man got situated on the bed and then reached around, giving a wonderful massage to her belly and lower back where everything threatened to tear in two. "Mark, you shouldn't - "

"Hush, woman. You're in pain and need me," he retorted. But, his voice held a note of tender intimacy as he slipped an arm around and cupped where she held her belly.

His firm pressure offered slight relief from the pain. "Of course I need you," she whispered and set her hand over his, shifting restlessly.

"You're trembling. Do you want a bit of chloroform?"

She shook her head. "Charles can't nurse then. He's eating every hour like he's having a growing spurt." A couple slow breaths helped with the pain.

He scooted closer, bracing her back against his hips, and pressed her belly harder. It helped dull the pain somewhat.

Oh god, the pain wouldn't let up hours later. It had to be midnight. Or maybe almost dawn. The hours blurred together from pain. Releasing a soft whimper from another wave of agony, she shifted and ran a hand through her hair and grabbed the sheets, then the pillow, the blankets and then the sheets again in search of some thing to hold onto.

"Hold onto me," his deep voice rumbled in her ear. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

Curling her knees to her chest, she clutched his arm where he still kept hard pressure on her belly. There was so much relief at not having to go through this every month alone anymore, to have his comfort even though it did little to help physically. Mixed with exhaustion, it was so overwhelming that tears spilled over in soft cries. "Don't go."

His short beard prickled slightly as he rested his cheek against hers. "I won't." The way he spoke those two words said he understood why she was crying. And that being needed, even in this small way, helped heal his own wounds. He stayed by her side all night.


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Have been having some medical problems and am scheduled for major surgery next Monday.**

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this. It's scandalous. You're not leaving the house," he barked a few mornings later. "Days ago you were in as much pain as childbirth! You will not go bouncing on a horse!"

She finished putting on his belt and looked down. "For years, women have been having pains and riding horses the same day. I think I'll survive a few days later."

"Don't mock me, woman! I'm the surgeon and your husband, and I say you will not get on a horse for a few more days!"

"I've never heard of a woman dying because of menses and riding a horse." She gave him a dry look.

"You're welcome."

Rolling her eyes, she ignored his comment. "Pantaloons feel odd - no wonder men are cranky. If I find a horse with a smooth gait, it won't hurt for you to ride him to the clinic when we go back to work in a couple days. Price said if you're there to supervise me, you keep your job. It's either that or I start showing him a little ankle - he might requires calves."

He glared, not seeming to find that funny.

"Oh, come now. I wouldn't really, and he wouldn't dream of touching an Ingine." She tightened the belt more.

"Don't use that word," he snapped. The man's vibrant blue eyes darted to her legs. Then he shifted, as if to hide his straining pantaloons. "Those cling too tight. There's a reason why females don't wear pants, woman."

They were a tad revealing across the hips and thighs. "No one will see but you and Brigands."

He sat on the bed and cocked a dark eyebrow, that roguish, aristocratic arrogance still deep in him. "Until someone passes by the front of the clinic. Woman, do you have any sense of how improper this is?!" he barked.

She smiled. "I do love it when you call me 'woman.' You do that when you're ornery but not so far gone that you can't be teased back into good humor."

A deep growl vibrated up his throat. "I have no qualms about locking you in the bedchamber should you continue to ignore me."

Stopping for a moment, she glanced at him. He did sound serious now. "What would you have me do? Let you jostle until the arteries and veins burst open in your thigh and you hemorrhage? You would leave Charles and I for the sake of your pride over your wife not wearing pants?"

"That's not at all why - " He began to argue and stood on the crutches.

"There's no one around to see. Should you so vehemently object to anything else, I would not press the matter; however, you are risking your health." She turned her chin up to him in challenge. "I'm not Anna, whom no doubt obeyed your every command. Sometimes, husband, a wife knows better. I won't back down, so stop wasting your energy."

His eyes narrowed. "You were far easier to handle when you feared me," he rumbled in his chest. "Although, I should've known to run the moment you opened your mouth at your father's house and began arguing with a marquess."

A laugh bubbled up, completely nonplussed, and she stood on her toes, setting a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned down to accommodate. When she pecked a kiss on his cheek, he simply growled in a way that said it appeased his ego somewhat. "You're still not leaving the house in that."

Turning before the small mirror, she looked at her backside to see what he was so upset about. It hugged improperly tight. Her jaw dropped and she ran a hand over it. "My bottom is bigger than yours!" Spinning around away from him, she covered it with her hands in embarrassment.

The man groaned and followed her on his crutches. "It's your hips that are fuller, which they're supposed to be." When she backed into a wall, he continued to advance until his body pressed again hers. "Even convalescing and considering myself more gentlemanly than many, I still want to rip those pants off," he whispered against her lips.

Shivers of pleasure ran up her spine. "Oh?" she breathed, completely mesmerized by his husky voice.

"Purr for me, my lady love," he whispered in her ear. His hand dipped between her thighs, and she grabbed his shoulders as her knees buckled. "I love how your body responds to my commands," he rumbled, stirring strands of hair near her ear.

"Arrogant, marquess?" she panted as her head fell back when he nibbled her ear. Her heart sped up in anticipation for him to kiss her neck in that perfect way of his.

"You love that I know how to wield and command power," he whispered in her ear but didn't kiss.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head. A cocky smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Arrogant rake," she breathed. "You have no intention of kissing me."

He chuckled and leaned in.

Tilting her head to give him access, she smiled.

But his lips didn't touch. "Do you want me?" His hot breath against her neck was like a drug, weakening her willpower and fluttering her heart.

Biting her lower lip, she nodded.

His fingers stroked her jaw, and the pad of his thumb freed her lower lip.

Each deep breath from her pounding heart brushed her breasts against his hard chest. "You just want to see me want you," she accused breathlessly.

He tilted her chin up with enough force to make the gentle touch a command and met her eyes. "Do you want me to make love to you?"

Every fiber yearned for him, needed him, breathed him. She nodded and clasped a fistful of his shirtfront to pull him closer. Of course he was too wounded yet, but there were other ways. Her eyes fluttered closed as he bowed his head for a kiss, his other hand coming to rest on her hip in a way that was so protective and safe and strong and sexual.

"This moment," he breathed. "Remember that in this moment, you once wanted me so much you trembled."

Opening her eyes, quiet strength and sad acceptance met her gaze. "I'll always want you." Raising onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down and crushed her mouth to his. As his arms embraced, she continued the kiss and unbuttoned her borrowed shirt.

"Tanya, I can't for a couple weeks yet." He pulled back and looked down in confusion as she shrugged off the shirt and reached for her belt.

"I said you can have me as many times as it takes for you to believe that I still desire you. You lit this fire, so you can put it out." She quickly got rid of her clothes and pulled him down again for a kiss. When he kept his hands on her shoulders, as if unsure if he should take advantage of the offer, she wrapped his arms around and guided his hips closer.

"Tanya, I should undress too so I don't frighten you," he panted. Trigger memories is what he meant.

She shook her head against his lips. "Want me so bad that you can't wait." Unbuttoning his shirt, she pressed against his bare chest. The vibrations of his heart against hers were enough to keep the demons away.

* * *

"You seemed well pleased," he said in bed a bit later.

Sitting on the edge and facing away from him, her cheeks burned as she put on his borrowed shirt again. "Hush. I will not verbally compliment your abilities too."

"You were quite vocal a few minutes ago." A cocky smile lightened his voice.

With a glance over her shoulder, she suppressed a smile to see him lying on his back with a hand tucked behind his head - like he was quite comfortable in his own body for once. "You can wipe that grin from your face. Pretty soon your complete celibacy will backfire. In the middle of surgery when you look across the table, you'll want me so bad that your body will react of its own accord."

His grin only grew. "Mind over matter, sweetheart. However, should we be at home, I look forward to even the thought of you sending me over the edge."

Ignoring that comment, she pulled on his pants and rolled up the legs to take up the extra length.

A playful swat hit her bottom. He gave an innocent smile when she looked over her shoulder.

"Oh, I thought Paul came in."

He blinked. "Who's Paul?"

Holding in a smile, she gave a wide-eyed look. "Er...I suppose you were bound to find out about my lover."

"Wench, you're trying to make me jealous - sitting there all sexy in my shirt, pretending to have a lover..." He grinned and pulled her backwards across the bed onto his chest.

With a giggle, she turned over to face him.

The laughter in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. "I've seen men lose so much after an amputation. But, nothing seems to devastate them more than losing that look from their wives." He looked away for a moment, obviously unused to speaking such sentiment. "I'm glad you're the one I'm going through this with." Then he guided her head down to rest on his chest as he stroked her hair.

"We'll get through this, Mark. It'll be easier once you get a fake leg and can get back in the daily routine." She held him tighter.

"Tanya?" His voice grew thick. "I know I'm often difficult, but don't mistake it for not being glad you're here."

A lump rose hearing his voice crack. "I know." She scooted up to straddle his hips and press her cheek to his as her own tears fell. "It's alright to be sad sometimes and cry. You don't have to be strong all the time with this."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and his shoulders silently shook.

Tears burned for his pain and that he'd needed her reassurance to fall apart. "I promise it'll be alright." Cradling the back of his head in her hand, she held him close to be strong because he needed it. "I love you. No matter what happens, I'll always love you."

The back of her shirt tightened as he clutched fistfuls to hold on with everything he was worth.

He hardly spoke the rest of the day and refused to come outside that afternoon while she tested two horses that the professor brought along.

"Brigands, enough. Mark needs someone to test their gaits," she ordered when the man protested. Again.

"He's ready to chop off heads should you continue. He sent me out here to stop you." Worry added wrinkles to the dear friend's brow.

"I will be fine. I've taken a tumble many times before and been alright. You have too much trouble with your back to try this, and we don't need the surgeon who is attending to Mark to be injured too. Plus, I have two surgeons on-site should I fall." She picked up the reins and tucked up her leg to mimic Mark's predicament on horseback as best as possible.

"We'll start with a slow walk so you get used to compensating," the surgeon said and held the horse's bridle.

The horse started forward. In the next moment, she tasted dirt.

"Are you alright?!" Brigands grabbed her arm as she blinked to clear her vision.

"No, don't move her." The professor touched her neck and back as she started to sit up. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You're stunned, you aren't fine." Brigands pulled out a handkerchief and set it to her nose.

"Let me see if it's broken." The surgeon pulled away the handkerchief for a moment and tilted her head back. The linen had quite a bit of blood on it.

The front door banged open and Mark whipped down the steps with impressive speed. "Is she hurt?" He dropped the crutches and leaned on Brigands' shoulder to lower himself to the ground.

"For heaven's sake, I'm not dying, you three."

"Does it hurt?" The professor lightly palpated the bridge of her nose.

"No, it's just a little tender."

"Can you see alright? Did she lose consciousness? Follow my finger." Mark held up a finger and moved it side to side.

"I'm fine." She held the handkerchief to her nose and stood.

"You're not fine," Mark snapped and worked his way onto the crutches. "Get in the house."

"No. It's lucky that it was my nose and not your leg that took a hit." She pinched the bridge to get the bleeding to stop. "Get the other horse," she told Brigands. "That one spooked from the uneven weight."

Mark's eyes iced over and he ground out, "Get. In. The. House."

He'd be furious if she continued, but he might also end up dead if she didn't. A final wipe revealed that the bleeding had already slowed significantly. Tucking the handkerchief in her waistband just in case, she held Mark's icy glare for a moment. He didn't deserve to be embarrassed in front of anyone for having a disobedient wife, but he also didn't deserve to be put on a skittish horse in a couple days. "If it didn't literally mean your life was on the line, I'd obey you." Turning, she walked over to the other horse nearby and climbed on bareback to go find the horse that had escaped. She gave the horse a kick and took off.

"Tanya!" His roar tore down the streets, over the thundering of her horse's hooves.

The horse had stopped not far beyond the mercantile down the road - not far enough for Mark's temper to cool by time of return, though. Taking the long way behind some of the buildings for as long as possible, she finally came out on the road through town with the spooked horse in tow.

Mark stood in front of the clinic - no larger than a small figure down the road. But, his anger vibrated even at this distance. When she stopped before the clinic, it was worse than imagined.

His jaw flexed, visible even through his beard, and his glare held such intensity that the urge to hang her head burned. Without a word, he took both sets of reins and tied them to the watering post. It served as a silent command that didn't dare be disobeyed.

"Mark - "

The words silenced at his cold look. He turned and made his way inside the house without a backwards glace - another sign that he expected her to follow.

Brigands stepped forward to help her down.

"Go inside so he's not angry with you too, Brigands. I can't just put him on a horse without knowing if he'll be safe."

"My lady," he said quietly, "I understand why you're doing this, and I would too. However, now is not the time to press him. I agree with him that you took a hard fall and at the very least need to rest."

"We have two days to figure out how to train a horse to accept his uneven weight and him to learn how to balance without causing himself a hemorrhage. I'd rather have an angry husband not speak to me for a week than a dead one."

"Let one of the ranch hands nearby come train a horse. It does not need to be you. He is just as afraid of you being injured and killing yourself as you are of him getting hurt." He held out his hand. "Come. There are some battles in marriage that do better to temporarily surrender."

"He will not ever come to accept this. Please go see to Charles. The surgeon and I will be fine."

"My lady, I must insist."

"I heard your warning, Brigands. And I must insist that you withdraw because neither he nor I will surrender, and you shouldn't get caught in the crossfire."

The other horse didn't spook, but it took well over an hour to figure out how to compensate the horse's gait without the sensation of pitching over the side. Another hour of modifications to the saddle passed before it grew too dark to try anything further.

She entered the house. Teresa and Brigands finished making dinner in the kitchen.

"The master had me take the babe upstairs to him. It's been quiet, so I think he fell asleep," Brigands said.

It wasn't worth asking if he meant Charles or Mark because Mark would be just as furious tomorrow as today. "Thank you. Don't wait for us to eat dinner - we might be a while."

Brigands gave an empathetic smile.

Trudging up the stairs, she stopped in the nursery. Charles napped in the crib. "I fear Papa is quite angry with me, and I might be spending the night in here, love." She gave a soft stroke over the silky curls and went to face Mark's wrath.

There was no answer when she knocked, although she hadn't expected him to be in a mood to respond. Opening the door, she quietly stepped in and closed it. He sat in a kitchen chair set at the window. Something in her chest twisted - he'd been keeping watch even though he'd been too angry to come outside. "Mark, I'm sorry that you didn't agree with me and that I disobeyed you in front of others. But, I'm not sorry that I didn't listen - if you had taken that fall, it might've burst arteries and vessels not yet healed and killed you."

He didn't take his eyes from the window, but a long sigh filled the silence. "I could care less if anyone thinks I can't 'control my wife.' It's your lack of care for your own well-being - and for Charles and I for that matter - that angers me." The words came out quiet and calm, perhaps from anger burning itself out and leaving disappointment and hurt in it's wake. "You know the guilt that you feel about my leg? Imagine the guilt if I died because I tried figuring out for you how to ride a horse."

"Mark - "

"Enough, Tanya." He sounded so weary. "I made myself clear multiple times and was discarded. I have no wish to continue." He pushed himself up onto his crutches and made his way to the door.

"And my guilt if you were to be thrown and die?"

He stopped and met her eyes. "That's just it - I was never going to blindly try riding. I had a man - near my own size - whom I had lined up to help train a horse."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Would you have even listened?"

She looked away. Probably not because there would've been the worry that she'd train it better or figure out a better method than anyone else because no one would protect him like she would.

"Today was not a partnership, Tanya," he said without emotion, portraying just how much he hurt. "Today was you seeing not a husband or surgeon or man of rational thought, but an invalid that needed coddling."

She grabbed his arm to stop him. "No," she seethed with grief and anger welling, "today I saw the man I love - having too much to bear already - be forced into returning to a job that is dangerous for him to travel to, because all his dreams are hanging on a thread! Today I saw my husband being backed into a corner when there's a way for me to help! I am so terrified of you dying on the way to that damn clinic that I've had nightmares about it every night since his asinine agreement arrived! This amputation has me terrified every moment of every day - I've read the books, Mark! I know the risks of gangrene and ulcers and cellulitis and a thousand other things that could kill you because of an amputation, that you're forever at high risk for complications, and there's nothing I can do about them!" Tears rolled down, and she thrust a finger at her chest. "A horse not throwing you to your death is the only damn thing I can control!"

He held her eyes, and his brow knit, as if he finally understood. The man yanked her into a fierce hug. "You can't live in this fear every day. I know how crazy it makes you because I have psychotic moments when I'm afraid you cough because you have cancer or have menses pain because of cancer...sometimes you have to force yourself to just be in the moment so you aren't missing life. We have two surgeons' and a damn good nurse's eyes on my leg. It's healing as it should, even a little faster because of how meticulous you are with wound care. Checking it over twice a day has to be the normal forever - I know that even the slightest rub from the prosthesis could cause an ulcer and infection and be fatal. If we're careful, it will be fine."

"Can I check it with you every night?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset about the horse."

He pulled back enough to dab at her tears with his handkerchief. "I don't expect you to 'obey' me in most circumstances, but when it's because of your safety, I do expect you to honor my wishes. You have a little bit of blood still." The soft dabs he gave didn't hurt, but his brow furrowed. "I think you might get a black eye." With the pad of his finger, he barely palpated the bridge of her nose. "Did you put ice on this?"

"No. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Come. You'll want ice on it."

* * *

Poor Mark seemed to do well practice riding - it was angry looks from the townsfolk thrown his way when they saw her black eyes that drew attention to him the next day.

"I beg your pardon," he said to an older woman when his horse shied too far left due to the uneven weight and nearly ran the woman over on the road.

"Hmph. Maybe ya should be apologizing to yer wife." The old woman glanced at her near the front step, glared up at Mark and hurried toward the mercantile.

She smothered a smile and walked closer to Mark as he rolled his eyes. "Would you like me to wait in the house?"

With a grunt, he pulled the reins and led the horse toward the cabin. "I'm done anyways." He paused, as if debating how to dismount.

Brigands stood on the other side but knew better than to offer Mark suggestions while she grabbed the bridle to keep the horse still.

Mark seemed to make up his mind all the sudden - he swung his good leg over and held the front and back of the saddle as his body slid down to land on his foot.

Something about his confidence, in doing what he'd probably been afraid of not being able to do in front of others, made her heart flutter. She walked up to his side as he held the saddle for balance while taking his crutches from a saddlebag. "Impressive, Dr. Johnson," she purred and brushed against his arm.

He turned his head and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson." When the surgeon stepped forward, his smile faded and he became very subdued.

"Ready for those sutures to come out?"

His eyes remained downcast as he gave a single nod.

She slipped her arm through his as he headed toward the house. "Mark? What's wrong? Do internal sutures need removing too?"

Again, one solemn nod. It would mean a skin incision and more pain, but just the thought of more surgery is probably what bothered him most.

"Then it's good I have time on my hands today for my cuddle bear," she teased.

That didn't win a smile from him. Instead, he stopped on the front porch and turned. His eyes searched hers, but he didn't seem to be able to find the words. Anxiety and fear and weariness mounted in his eyes. The moment she touched his cheek, it shattered his last wall - the poor man burst into tears right there for all to see.

"Oh, love," she whispered and stood on her toes to hug him, "we're almost at the end. This is the easy part. We can use ice to numb for the incisions, and I'll help him so you'll have just small cuts. This part will be so easy." Tears burned seeing him suffer so much that he clung and sobbed like a terrified child. "I promise this will be easy, love." She pressed a kiss to his hair and held on tight until he wept it all out.

When he pulled back and she dabbed at his tears with his handkerchief, the poor thing looked away in embarrassment. "You aren't wed to a brave man," he said, his voice still thick with tears.

"I think you're the bravest man in the world." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and held his eyes. "It's the brave ones who can weep and then forge toward what frightens them."

He was so tense that she didn't have the heart to tell him that his grip on her hand hurt as the surgeon cut the outer sutures while the ice took effect. "Mark, it looks so good." She flashed him a smile. It faded upon the sight of his head turned away like he didn't want to see the long scar. Even with the tattoo, he seemed to hate anything to do with his leg.

It was eery, the way he didn't respond when she let go of his hand to help make small incisions to cut the sutures out of the muscle flaps that had been sewn together over the bone. He just stared at the wall, the only movement his slow breaths.

"Mark?" No response. She glanced at the surgeon working on the other half of the leg.

"It's not uncommon for men to not be able to handle any more and shut down. He's distantly aware of us," the man explained.

"Like he's catatonic?" Her eyes widened in horror.

"To a degree."

Mark needed her more than he needed to get minor surgery done faster. She washed her hands and then sat on the edge of the bed where he sat up and stared at nothing. "Mark?" She touched his hand. When that didn't gain a response, she leaned into his unfocused line of vision and stroked his cheek. "Honey, I'm going to sit right here with you. The doctor is almost done." A steady flow of gentle words didn't seem to reach him either. So, she cupped his face in her hands and brushed a kiss over his lips. "I'm right here," she whispered.

He blinked and silently pulled her close to hold onto.

"Do you hurt?" She cupped the back of his head and stroked his back.

A gentle shake of his head served as his reply.

"Sweetheart, we're in this together. Tell me what you need."

"Just stay," he whispered. He didn't let go the next half hour that the surgeon worked.

* * *

She crawled into bed and laid beside Mark, pulling the sheets over their heads.

"What are you doing?" he sighed.

"You've hardly said a word and have had no interest in anything since the surgeon left yesterday. Didn't you ever make a tent with sheets when you were a child?" she chattered. "You can say anything in the tent because it's a magical safe place."

No response.

She climbed up to drape over his chest and looked down into his dull eyes. "I miss my fierce dragon," she said in all seriousness. "Everyone here loves you. Let us in, Mark. Why won't you leave bed?"

Tears shimmered in his eyes. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Who tell me what?"

His throat convulsed in a hard swallow. "When you went downstairs for more ice yesterday, the professor said I can't have a prosthesis. The way it's healing is uneven and will cause pressure points to lead to ulcers and gangrene."

She jerked upright. "Then we use crutches until we figure out a way to build a special padding so you won't get ulcers. He can't just declare a prosthesis impossible! I - "

He pointed to a crutch in the corner. It had a very slight bend.

"Then we find a stronger metal!" She stormed over and snatched up the crutch. It should've been able to accommodate Mark's weight. Setting it down, she moved it to mimic's Mark use. "The angle," she whispered. "It can handle weight, but it cannot handle angles." A broken cane hid next to the nightstand. "I'll work with the blacksmith and figure out a different metal - "

"Tanya," he said quietly. Too quietly.

She shook her head and clenched her teeth to hold back the tears. "It might take heavier crutches, but you're strong enough to carry them. We can try mixing metals so there is strength without weight - "

"Tanya."

"No!" She sniffled and grabbed the other crutch and marched to the door. "I'll figure out different crutches!"

"I'm bedridden." His voice cracked.

"No!" Pain tore down her throat with the force of the shout as she flung the crutches down. Heaving in air to hold back the tears of watching his world fall apart, she ran her hands through her hair and turned away. She locked her hands behind her head. Think! Think! There had to be another way.

"Tanya."

"No!" She whirled around and thrust a finger at him as he blurred behind tears. "I will not watch you die from bedsores or pneumonia because you can't get out of bed! I will figure out something! And it'll be better than a wheelchair that will only weaken you!"

"Tan - "

"No!" she spat, "Don't tell me it's futile! If I have to drag you out of that damn bed to try new crutches or prostheses, I will! You are not giving up!"

"Would you listen?!" He pushed himself up to a stand and held onto the bedpost, his empty pantleg swinging as if laughing at its own freedom. When he hopped a step and grimaced in pain, she walked over to him.

He grabbed her wrist and jerked her against his broad chest, his breath coming hot and quick over her face from his efforts against pain. "We have no money right now, and you will not squander it on prototypes." He stripped off his nightshirt and tossed it aside. Then he kissed her neck and reached behind to unbutton her dress.

"What are you doing?"

"You know what it does to me when you come cannons blasting, woman," he growled and let her dress drop around her ankles. "Lie down - I can't balance to bend and take off your stockings at once."

"You mean you want to...?" Her eyes widened.

"Did you not just finish telling me that I can do anything?" he snapped and removed her remaining clothing. "What, you will blast cannons, but you're bashful of your husband?"

That arrogant cock of his eyebrow made her heart flip-flop. "You had no confidence a minute ago, but now..." Her cheeks burned.

"Never say you have no power over me," he rumbled deep in his chest and held the post with one hand while cupping her cheek and dipping his tongue past her lips in a passionate kiss.

She clung to his shoulders and grew drunk on his kiss.

"Lie down," he breathed against her lips.

It was like being under his spell, willing to do anything he commanded. There was something so sensual, so tender in the way he sat on the edge of the bed and glided her stockings off while holding her gaze with those beautiful blue eyes. All the shame and pain and burdens fled his face, replaced with the love and confidence of simply a husband seducing his wife.

"Are you sure it's safe for you yet?"

"If we aren't vigorous and have care, it's fine."

He eased his body over hers and searched her beautiful eyes. Only his Tanya could make the impossible seem possible. "I don't know if I can like this, but it's been so long since I've had you like this..." Bracing on his hands and knee, he swallowed back the scorching humiliation. This angle would be damn awkward without leverage or a way to keep the hideous stump from pounding against the mattress.

She brought her knee up to the side, slipping her thigh and shin under the mutilated appendage to be the perfect pillow and support that would prevent any injury. Of course she would give of herself and not recoil with repulsion. Her breasts rose and fell in soft pants, her beautiful brown eyes so dilated with desire. God, it shouldn't be, but she even trembled with need for him.

"I don't know that I..." This was so goddamn emasculating. Minutes ago, wanting her hadn't been an issue.

"Relax, husband, it's only me," she purred and tugged his forearms until he rested down on his elbows, with his lips a breath from hers. "I can't take your weight. Do what you please with me to believe that I desire you."

"Tanya, it's not you." His face burned as the self-consciousness made it impossible to bed her.

Delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided his hand down to her. She had to know that his desire was gone, but she didn't try to force his body to reawaken or even acknowledge it. Instead, she sighed at the brush of his hand, closed her eyes and held the edges of her pillow in surrender to him. "I love you," she breathed as her hands fisted in response to his stroke.

My god, she was exquisite - the embodiment of love and strength and passion. She offered her body, to swallow her own embarrassment to be the center of attention herself so that he might find confidence again.

"I love you, Mark. I want you," she breathed, and her body rose in a graceful arch in response to the simple trailing of his finger down her belly.

Her unconditional love was too much. This sudden rush, this primal instinct to have her suddenly surged. "I love you, my Tanya." Raising onto his hands, he thrusted.

Her fingers dug into his back as her body arched up to welcome him, and a soft cry of love escaped her lips. She gave herself over immediately and completely, somehow finding pleasure as he joined her body.

"I'm sorry," he said seconds later in embarrassment as she cuddled up to his side.

That fairy-like laugh filled the air. "I like that I made the marquess lose control for once."

A swat to her backside only won more giggles. "Hush, woman," he growled.

"You're not as fierce as you once were, you know."

"I shall have to rectify that," he grumbled.

"Oh, I tremble," she giggled.

Laughter came straight from her heart, as if she didn't care that he was still so exhausted from surgery that he had no stamina or that he couldn't bed her quite properly anymore. It helped staunch the humiliation. "Saucy wench. I should have a firmer hand with you. We'll start with punishment for your sass," he snapped and pulled her onto his hips for a proper kiss that would make her swoon.

A squeal of laughter pierced and she grabbed his hands to pull him off. "Don't tickle."

He chuckled at her contagious happiness. "I didn't mean to tickle."

"Liar, you know I'm ticklish on my ribs." She giggled and squirmed free.

"No, I didn't," he laughed. "Come back."

The woman escaped off the bed and held the edge of the sheets over herself. "Promise you'll let us help you come downstairs to play with Charles first." She tilted her head down and looked up with those beautiful big eyes and a shy smile that only an idiot would resist.

"Fine. If you promise to come to bed without your nightdress tonight." The corner of his mouth curled up. Two could play at this game.

Her cheeks reddened to a lovely shade. She raised her chin in challenge. "Fine."

He flung back the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Come help me change my bandage and get dressed, wife."

"I'm putting on clothes first - and that's not negotiable," she cut in when he opened his mouth.

"I must say, it's good that I didn't live in America before now."

She gave a questioning look as she pulled on her dress and walked over.

"If all American women are as spirited as you, I'd have enjoyed my youth too much."

That flustered her speechless, so she turned and presented her back for him to do the buttons. "Or it was my heathen childhood that taught me to not curb my tongue."

"Why do you say such things?" He eased her back to sit on his good leg and spoke into her ear. "Have I ever told you that your unique beauty excites me?"

"You are delusional with pain. Ask anyone in town, and they will tell you that an Injun is not beautiful." She kept her gaze locked forward.

"I'm quite comfortable at the moment and of very sound mind. You're quite erotic, but should I have said so before now, you would've taken it in offense."

She glanced from the corner of her eye in uncertainty. "And I should not take offense now?" Her tone came slightly sharp, but not enough to do more than sting.

"No, you should not." He laid her down on the bed and leaned over, tracing a finger along her soft jawline. "You're like a sapphire among the diamonds. Diamonds lose their significance when so prevalent, their sparkle not quite as bright and their edges sharp. But a sapphire is rich and deep and so very rare in a sea of diamonds. If others see a flaw because the sapphire is not a diamond, you should not care. Because your husband sees something gorgeous and rare that outshines anything else he's ever seen."

She swallowed hard. "Others will shun you because of me. It's not so easy here to hide what I am like it was in England."

"I do not want you to hide," he whispered and leaned down near her ear. "I already look across the room and desire you - it doesn't take celibacy for that to happen." He brushed a kiss over her ear and leaned up on his elbow to meet her eyes. "When they say you're too dark, I say you've danced with the sun. You say they see eyes and lips too big, I see beautiful chocolates that pull me in to kiss lips of passion. If they see a figure too curveless, I see a willowy gracefulness that rivals a queen. There is such beauty because you do not look like others." He brought her hand to his lips.

Tears shimmered in her eyes as she smiled.

Just like that, she chased away all the self-consciousness and self-doubt and grief. She still needed him as much as before, if not more here in America. He hadn't fallen in her eyes as a cripple or now without a leg - he'd convinced himself that she saw him as less. But these past couple days had proven that she needed him as much as he needed her.

He took her hand and got out of bed.


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Had complications after surgery and am still having trouble with memory from anesthesia 3 weeks ago. Dr said my body seems very sensitive to drugs and surgery. It was hard to concentrate writing this chapter and took days instead of hours to write, so hopefully it makes sense.**

* * *

He grunted.

"I'm impressed that you made it through almost full days back at work this week." She smiled in the morning sunlight.

Mark threw her a look from his chair in the bedchamber.

"Oh, you'll be glad we did this. The blacksmith can use it as a mold of your leg without you coming in every time he makes a prosthesis." She smoothed a layer of plaster over his thigh.

"Two more minutes," he growled.

"For heaven sakes, I don't know why you're timing me. There's no reason why you should be ashamed to let me touch it. You've been surly ever since we went back to work a week ago." She smoothed a first layer of plaster over the end of his thigh.

The man jerked his leg away and leaned down to pick up another piece of plaster out of the bowl himself. "I've done plenty of damn casts. You don't need to be here for this," he snapped.

"I know, but it's good for you to let me touch it. This is not something to hate. It's alright if I touch your leg when it's not just to put on a bandage."

In the middle of applying the plaster himself, he stilled and gave a dark glare. "Does it arouse you?"

She blinked and then frowned. "Of course I find no pleasure in seeing your leg cut off!"

"Mm," he grunted with a look, as if to prove his point.

Rolling her eyes, she sat back on her haunches. "You set me up. I have no reason to not want to touch your leg."

"Then limiting your touch will preserve that," he snapped. "Go do something useful." When she didn't move, his eyes slowly trailed up, the anger palpable. "I said, 'go,'" he snarled.

"You're ashamed, and there's no reason to be."

"Goddammit, go!" he roared, "I will not beg!" Humiliation burned in his scowl.

Standing up, her heart broke for him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were just trying to push me away. I'll check on you in a few minutes."

She nursed Charles and then paced while burping him. Mark still struggled psychologically as much as physically. One minute he would be fine with intimacy, and the next he wouldn't let anyone touch him for hours, sometimes days. Standing at the door a half hour later, she knocked. "Mark?" No answer, so she peeked inside.

He sat in the chair, with the plaster mold on the floor drying as he stared at his leg with slumped shoulders. The rag to wash off the plaster residue was crushed in his hand, but he didn't appear to have started to clean it off.

"Honey?" She walked over to him.

"I can't stand to touch it," he whispered with so much defeat.

Her heart broke, and she knelt. "May I wash you?"

A shake of his head and he dropped the rag right onto the floor. "Please go. I can't stand you seeing it," he whispered.

She rose to her knees and kissed his cheek. "The only way I learned to tolerate you touching my breast is by letting you do it. Sometimes I still feel a sting of humiliation, but you taught me to also feel pleasure at your touch. I cannot feel much in my breast - "

His eyes flew to hers, as if he hadn't known that.

"But in my mind, I feel you. And I find pleasure in it now. It takes time to trust."

"My knee is gone, but I still feel the pain sometimes. Touching it doesn't necesarily make it worse or better - I don't know how to not be ashamed." He still wouldn't look up. He seemed so lost.

"You have to trust that I won't let you fall," she whispered and caught his tear that slid down his cheek. "Each time will be less terrifying. Then, you will begin to find comfort in my touch."

He cupped her hands on the end of his leg and held her there. Those blue eyes searched hers even though this seemed to tear him apart. "It feels so disgusting and unnatural like - "

"Love. It feels like love, Mark."

Silence. It was like he hadn't been prepared to be stopped from going down a dark road and shown one of sunlight.

"I love you so much that all I see is courage and beauty; you love me enough to let me touch what you fear. This is love. You see this as a way to drive us apart, but I see it as a means to bind us in trust and love deeper than most people have their whole lives. I see a man who is not weaker but stronger because of this. I hate that it makes you struggle, but I love your leg for what it offers us. Let me touch you like this every day."

His poor heart softly moved his shirt with the force of its panicked beats. "Why does it not frighten you?" He swallowed hard and searched her eyes.

It finally dawned - he was repulsed by it because it frightened him. She leaned down and brushed a kiss over his thigh before meeting his eyes. "Because this is still you." When he tensed before she even stroked his leg, she stilled. "Are you afraid because it hurts or that it will hurt?"

"Having something cut off should be painful. I've seen patients screaming days later. Almost the entire time it hasn't hurt as much as my knee did. It has to be a nerve was damaged in surgery, and it'll grow back soon."

"Listen to me. You're almost three weeks post-surgery. That just speaks to how terrible your knee pain was, or maybe to how well the tree bark works. I promise it's not going to all the sudden get worse. You're all done with that pain." She stroked his cheek. "Today is Saturday. Let's take Charles outside before the sun gets too warm, and then help me pack for moving."

"Now that we have funds again, the house won't be ready for a few more weeks - "

A smile bloomed. Apparently everyone had kept the secret well.

* * *

On Monday, she glanced behind at Mark. He didn't seem to be in as much pain as a week ago, but the five-mile horseback ride still took a lot out of him before it was even time to start work.

"Stop." The lumberyard came into view. "Close your eyes." He might see the surprise otherwise.

"Why?" He frowned.

"Just do it and hold onto me." She eased the reins from his hands and led the horse. Thankfully, he wrapped his arm around her waist a bit tighter and his free hand grabbed the saddlehorn for balance.

Dozens of men and their families gathered around the house with giant smiles as she led the horse through town.

She smiled at the faces that were fast becoming friends. In the past week, no one had stared or made a comment to Mark about his leg. Yet, none had raced to his aid for any task until they saw if he struggled to do it alone. The new crutches the lumberyard carpenter had designed for the blacksmith seemed to work well, giving Mark back so much freedom. The men had even perfected her idea for a chair that allowed Mark to sit at table height while doing surgery. These men were only too eager to give back to the surgeon who had saved many of them from infection, dismemberment or death.

Her grin grew as she stopped the horse and the men parted for direct view of the house. She turned to see his reaction. "Alright, open."

He blinked in surprise to see most all of the town gathered. Then his eyes locked on the house that the men had completed.

"It's ready to move in so you don't have to travel to work anymore."

His eyes shifted to her and he frowned. "I don't understand. There were months worth of work left. Where did the money come from?"

"It don't do us no good to have a Doc far away at night," one of the burly men said.

"We worked out payment with the little lady that she makes us lunch fer a week each month as pay until the snow hits," another chimed in.

"When I came to see Price, I talked to the men about finishing the house so you don't have to travel. Once they heard that you lost your leg, they began working on the house in the evenings and on weekends and days off."

Mark swallowed hard.

"Come see." She moved to dismount, and one of the older men stepped forward and helped her down.

Then two men helped Mark down, but he seemed too distracted to protest. He absently took the crutches from her, his eyes still locked on the house as he headed for the front stairs that someone had built a temporary ramp over.

She followed Mark and exchanged a smile with Jefferson, the carpenter who had taken over as volunteer lead carpenter for this project. "Did you think of the ramp?"

"Yes, ma'm," he whispered. "A man doesn't like to be a spectacle entering his own house."

"It's perfect." She followed Mark room to room, his expression one of stunned disbelief.

"Doc." Jefferson led the way to a closet with half doors in the front room. When he opened the door, he waved a hand. "Step in."

"Step in?" Mark frowned.

A grin answered, so she stepped in and the two men followed. Then Jefferson began to pull a rope. She grabbed Mark's arm in surprise at the speed as the closet moved.

"It's a dumbwaiter for humans!" Mark positively beamed. "May I?"

Jefferson stepped back, with a glint of pride in his eye. "Extra gears were added so the Mrs. can pull it with ease too."

Mark leaned against the wall, propped the crutches under his arms and pulled the rope hand over fist, rapidly going to the children's bedroom hall upstairs. A bell dinged softly behind her.

"That's the signal that it's level with the floor and safe to exit." Jefferson opened the doors.

"How bloody brilliant," Mark said in amazement and exited after her. "Tanya, I shall fetch the babe during the nights just to play with the dumbwaiter."

She laughed and took his arm to view the bedrooms.

"The dumbwaiter was your wife's idea," Jefferson added.

Mark didn't even blink, the grin on his face spreading. "Of course it was - she's a genius."

Everyone had the grace to not comment when Mark stopped at the front porch and couldn't get out more than a 'thank you' to them before his voice gave out. When she looked back at Jefferson, even he brushed at his eye.

She walked into the lab at the back of the clinic that morning after checking on the only hospitalized patient - a man who had cut his hand badly on a saw a couple days ago and infection threatened.

Mark sat in a special chair with rollers and used the edge of the table to glide himself to the other end. Dozens of bottles and tubes made a maze that ended where a flask sat over a lantern flame. He even wore goggles like some mad scientist.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Stay back. I exploded the last flask and didn't get it cleaned up yet. I'm making a salve for the infection."

"You're playing with new toys is what you're doing."

He turned to frown at her.

The goggles magnified his eyes to the extreme. A laugh couldn't be contained and burst out. "I'm sorry, but you look ridiculous!" She grabbed her stomach and pressed a hand to her mouth so the patient wouldn't hear the hysteria.

Mark just snorted in disgust and turned back to his work. "We'll see who's laughing when I cure his infection."

Once the wheezing settled to dabbing tears from her eyes, she stepped around the glass and leaned down beside him to peer at the tubes too. "What are we doing?" A hand slapped over her eyes.

"Not blinding you, for one!" Something pulled over her head, and then everything looked ten times bigger.

"Why do I have to wear goggles!"

He looked at her and burst out laughing. "You carry them off well, my dear." Then he pointed to the tubes and explained some kind of heating process that he called 'distillation.' It offered a glimpse of his mind as he worked in his lab all day mixing and titrating powders and liquids that he combined into a salve. Two days later, there was no sign of infection.

"Read this." He slapped a paper down on the desk before her a week later and walked away on his crutches. The man checked on a patient hospitalised for an axe going into his thigh.

"Am I missing something? Why does this document the chest tube procedures, and why is my name on this?" Flipping through the pages, her eyes widened at the frequency of her name mentioned. She looked up.

After he finished listening to the patient's chest, he asked the man a couple questions and then headed to the lab with a glance that said to follow.

In the lab, she automatically took the pestle and mortar when he dumped tree bark in it to be ground up as he continued to fetch some other remedies.

"You invented a new technique. Most patients die within days of having a chest tube, if not immediately." He continued grabbing bottles off shelves. "In order to be published in a medical journal, a physician must co-author: you figured it out and I wrote it down."

"Mark! No one is going to read this when a woman came up with it!"

"Hence, you're 'T. Johnson.'" He didn't even look up. "For all they know, you're my brother. Is the procedure correctly documented?" he grunted.

"You can't submit this! They'll find out it's me, and your reputation will be ruined!"

"Yes or no?" he demanded and set down the last bottle.

"Yes, but - "

"Then I'm submitting it today. Mix one gram of those into the bowl, one leaf of this and three droppers of these," he ordered and pointed to the bottles. Then he headed out.

"Wait! You can't just mail something on my behalf, and you can't leave me to mix medicine for a patient!"

He stopped in the doorway and cocked his eyebrow in that arrogant marquess manner. "You would object to mailing it even if you'd found the cure for cancer. I don't care if there's backlash for you being a woman. I'm technically your boss, and I say it's mailing."

Her jaw fell open. "We're equal partners!"

The man came closer with a wicked smile. "Business partners don't sleep together." His finger stroked her cheek.

With a shocked gasp, she swatted away his hand and stepped back. "Your ego is going to your head! If you think - "

"Think what?" He took a step forward, backing her up to the wall, and propped his crutches to lean his hands on each side of her shoulders. Just like he used to do.

And her heart still skipped a beat, just like it used to. "Think you can do whatever you please just because you're a man," she said breathlessly. Dear heaven, his hot breath stirred desire and that rakish smile tugging the corner of his mouth made her knees weak.

"I do what I please to see fire ignite my wife's blood. I do enjoy the chase of the intellectual challenge she presents."

Trying to ignore the gallop of her heart triggered when he acted like a rake, she cocked an eyebrow to force an aire of indifference. "You like when I take you to task, you mean."

That spellbinding smile tugged at his mouth even more. "No, the fact that you do not bend to my will simply because you're a woman, no matter how much you want me. Do not think I don't see your eyes dilated or feel your hot breath coming in soft gasps or feel your body trembling with desire. You want me but have the willpower to resist if you aren't intellectually satisfied. That excites me more than anything."

"So you were lying about being the boss?"

His smile faultered. "Um, just teasing." He suddenly didn't seem so cocky.

"So, it's a ploy to get under my skirts." She crossed her arms, forcing him to lean back.

"No," he frowned and tugged at his neckcollar.

Raising into her toes, she slipped her tongue past his lips and buried her fingers in his thick hair. The minute he pressed his body to hers with clear need, she broke the kiss and ducked under his arm. "Just teasing." With a glance over her shoulder, she smiled as he dropped his forehead against the wall in sexual frustration.

His eyes followed her every move the rest of the day, the sexual tension rising to the point that it was a wonder he didn't come up with some excuse to be alone together.

At the end of the day, she went in back to check what supplies besides sutures needed replenishing. After a few minutes, the clank of crutches creaked the floorboards. "Do you need anything specific ordered?"

The floor announced his progress closer. A strong hand rested on her hip as he reached around for a pack of gauze. "Bandages," he said in a husky tone near her ear.

A shiver of desire ran up. "We have plenty."

"For at home." His hand with the package rested on her lower belly in a way that he had to know would stir butterflies in her belly.

"I have ones for your leg on the list already." She leaned back lightly against his chest, ignoring his sharp intake of breath from lust. "I'm working, Dr. Johnson. Is there anything you need?"

"You know damn well what I need," he growled, his fingers digging into her hip. "You enjoy this game of cat and mouse."

She turned with a sultry smile and looked up from beneath her lashes. "Of course." Her finger grazed over his lips and down his whiskery chin. "A mouse likes the power. And likes how you devour once caught," she purred. Letting her finger fall, she let her hips sway on the way to the door. Then she turned with a hand on the doorframe, quite pleased to see him watch with hunger. "That manuscript does not mail."

His eyebrow arched in challenge. "Oh, my dear, it already has." He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest, letting the crutches lean beside him.

"You didn't," she gasped. He wouldn't have.

"The cat always wins in the end."

Her blood boiled. "You're bluffing."

Those blue eyes narrowed and he straightened. "It's damn ingenious what you came up with, and I'm not going to let you hide behind skirts. It deserves recognition as much as if a man had figured it out," he ground out.

"It'll make you a laughingstock! Did you at least have the brains to submit it to a women's medical journal?"

His jaw flexed in anger. "I submitted it where it should be - in _The Lancet._ "

"What?! How can you be stupid enough to send it to the best journal! I'm going to the postmaster right now to get it back before you ruin your career!" She stormed out, remembering to grab her wrap at the last minute.

The poor postmaster looked startled when she barged into his shop.

"Give me the mail from Dr. Johnson - it was a mistake."

"Um, well..." The older man looked relieved when Mark walked in a moment later. "It's legally his, so he has to tell me to return it, ma'm."

She whirled on Mark and drummed her fingers on the counter.

"No," he commanded. "No one will find out until after its wildly successful in practices around the world. Our practice is growing because our unconventional methods are saving lives. I've been down this road before of being shunned at first because of radical practices, but once they see them work, the pendulum swings the other way. I will not recall that manuscript."

Arguing in public would be futile, so she marched out and headed down the road toward home.

"You know I can't walk that fast!" His shout came out angry and hurt.

Turning around, she stormed back to him in a fit. "You had no right!"

"I had every right! Just because you were raised to believe you're an unintelligent outcast doesn't mean they're right!" He shouted with enough vigor for them both. "I've worked with a hell of a lot of physicians and students, and you're more goddamn brilliant than any of them! When I see someone advance goddamn medicine ten years in ten minutes, I'm sending in her work for recognition, and fuck anyone who has the gall act like a dick just because she doesn't have one!"

Her face burned as red as his, but from the crude language. "Others will come up with the same things in time, if not already."

"Just like they figured out to remove uterine fibroids instead of condemning a woman to death for cancer?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Teresa is different. You're a real physician - "

"You do practically everything I do! When I say you're a goddamn genius who arouses me as much with your brain as your body, I don't expect a goddamn argument! Get in the house, woman!"

Fire ignited deep inside and flowed through her blood until every fiber burned with desire. He believed her beautiful and intelligent and talented enough to risk ruining his careeer. Grabbing his lapels, she crushed her lips to his. "I'm supposed to be everything a man doesn't want."

"Fuck them." His arms wrapped around and his hand buried in her hair, giving a gentle tug to tilt her head back as his tongue dove past her lips. "If I had two legs, I'd carry you inside. Get in the bedroom," he panted.

"Dr. Johnson! Dr. Johnson!" One of the men came running down the road in a panic. "My wife is having the baby, but there's blood everywhere! The midwife doesn't know what to do!"

"Tanya, run to the clinic and grab the obstetric bag. Let's go deliver a babe." He turned with a smile and swung his crutches to hurry after the father.

A smile tugged. Mark glowed for the first time since the amputation at the prospect of practicing the medicine that he truly loved.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Note: My surgeon's two-week recovery estimate was waaay off.**

* * *

"I can't."

"Of course you can, woman. You have the best sutures I've ever seen." Mark cleaned off the new babe's face.

"I've never sutured organs! Get over here and _you_ stitch the cesarian section!"

"I'm a little busy with a cyanotic newborn. Stitch or she'll bleed out," he snapped and suctioned the babe's mouth again.

Panic bubbled, but she set the needle to the inner layer of womb and started. On the third layer, she startled at the sound of a deep voice near her ear.

"Take the needle a tad deeper." Mark looked over her shoulder with empty arms.

"Where's the babe? You can take over." She tied the knot.

"She's breathing now. I took her to the father. You're doing fine, no need to interrupt your artwork." He mopped her brow. "Relax before you contaminate your surgical field."

"This is not my job." A note of stress slipped out. Every stitch had to be delicate, precise and even to avoid a deadly uterine hernia or tear.

"This is exactly your job when two surgeons are needed. You're good enough to do work like this." He sat in the chair and checked the woman's breathing.

Then it dawned that he couldn't finish because his leg hurt too much. "Is it this summer heat? You seem to have more trouble standing when it's hot."

"We'll return tomorrow to check the bleeding and incision."

"I ask so I know how to help you, Mark."

"The heat exacerbates the swelling. We aren't speaking of it again," he snapped.

"You're so stubborn," she sighed.

"And you're irritating, woman! We don't need to discuss my ailments every minute! If you'd concentrate, you'd be finished."

The laugh escaped before it could be smothered. "I'm a woman - I can multitask." She set down the supplies to rethread the needle.

A soft swat barely hit through the skirts. "Don't sass me, wench," he growled.

She cocked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll sass if you need sassing. Get ice for your leg so you don't get cellulitis." Then she resumed stitching.

"I'll get ice if I damn well want ice. Goddammit, your job is to just close her up! Your father never warned me of your tongue!" he huffed in that adorable cranky way of his.

"A meek woman who just says, 'Yes, husband' and 'Make me scream again in passion' is more to your liking?" A sly smile tugged.

Silence. The man sat speechless and swallowed hard before he finally sputtered, "Tha...if...I...Do your work!"

That won a hearty laugh.

"Saucy brat," he muttered. "When we return home, I shall teach you a lesson. Be quick, for it may take a few hours to properly punish you." He spoke with all the arrogance of a marquess.

She glanced and met his eyes dark with desire. A delicious thrill ran through. "I shall dutifully moan and let you tear off my clothes as I beg for more."

He shifted in the chair as his pantaloons grew tight, his mouth clearly too dry at the moment to speak. Then he cleared his throat and snapped, "You would do well to be thankful your hands are in her guts right now."

With a soft grunt, she pursed her lips and glanced at him. "I suppose I should be thankful we don't have a long ride home anymore, or I'd find you making wild love to me in the hayfields."

A deep growl of sexual frustration erupted from his throat. The man stood and didn't hesitate to bang the chair and crutches around to reveal his irritation at being left speechless again.

Walking down the hall minutes later to get the husband to say he could come in while his wife woke up, another male voice of the neighbor traveled through the corridor.

"She's far from pretty, which hopefully means she has brains. Why else would a man of his position have wed an Ingine like her? Injuns are not the prettiest lot, but I've seen some who are better looking than her."

On the way home, Mark must've noticed the silence. "I was bantering when I said you're irritating." He paused on his crutches to catch her eye.

"I know. I'm just tired." Tugging his arm, the walk home finished in silence.

* * *

Entering the kitchen after checking that Charles was fast asleep, she spotted the tub filled with steaming water. Mark sat in a chair turned to the tub, with his chin in hand as he leaned his elbow on the table. She stopped in her tracks.

"Your bath is drawn." His voice came out husky and shiver-inducing. Apparently he hadn't forgotten about his promise of punishment tonight.

"You aren't going to bathe?"

"Later. Undress."

There was something too cold about this suddenly, even though it was fun and seductive to undress for him at his command in the past. This time, it seemed...vulgar and degrading.

Before she even got her arms fully wrapped around herself, he dropped his arms and sat back in a less threatening pose. "Come." His voice held only gentleness as he offered his hand.

She walked over and took it, letting him ease her down to straddle his good leg.

"I watch to enjoy my wife's beauty, nothing more."

"I know." She stared at his chest.

His finger hooked under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Did I make you feel ashamed during surgery?" His brow knit in concern. "My leg hurt, and perhaps my tongue was too sharp."

"No, I like when we play like that, and your tongue is rarely too sharp for me. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

"Nothing is wrong with you," he growled in irritation. "What feels right one day may not the next. It is your job to say if that happens, and my job to listen. Do you not wish to undress for me tonight?"

"No, I just..." A deep sigh.

"May I undress you?"

With a nod, she bit back a small smile. He often seemed to know when a tongue lashing versus when a gentle touch would give courage. "Mark? Thank you."

He scowled. "If a man must be thanked for not making his wife feel ashamed, he should be shot."

"That's not what I meant." She frowned in confusion.

"Then say what you mean. Having a beautiful woman about to be naked in my lap is getting damn uncomfortable," he barked.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I meant you're very sweet to take such good care of me."

"Sometimes I'm goddamn unlucky that you look so exotic."

"You like that I look different?" She rubbed her nose against his in a playful cuddle, shoving away the sting of what the men had said earlier.

With a curse, he tugged at his pant laces and then push aside her skirts. He lifted her hips and sank in through the slit in her drawers. His head fell back with a deep sigh. "I damn love it," he breathed.

The soft gasp of pleasure melted into a giggle. "Help yourself."

"You can't expect a gorgeous woman, about to bathe before him, sit in his lap and him have any self-control."

She frowned. "What if I'm not beautiful compared to others like me? You lust for what you think is a rare beauty. I might be plain when we do see others."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I lust for what I love, which makes you even more beautiful. Should such an insane thing exist as you being plain, I shan't realize it because I only have eyes for you."

"But, when I cut my hair and was coming home, you said you - "

"I know what I said," he huffed. "I've only ever felt that way with you, which is why it bothered me when I thought you were a stranger." He frowned. "Should you have been an Englishwoman, I doubt we'd be having this conversation."

A glance away apparently spoke for itself as she got up.

The man looked a bit confused and tucked himself back together. "Did someone say something today about your heritage? I apologize if my comment was offensive; I didn't mean it as such."

"I'm said to not be as pretty as far as attractiveness goes for Native Americans. People talk and wonder why you chose me..." The words faded away in embarrassment. "It's just been a long day."

"Do you believe I give a rat's ass what people think?" he barked. "I'm sure some women find me unattractive, especially with my leg gone now, and I know many think I'm an ass. Should I worry that you no longer find me desirable?"

"No."

He gave a pointed look.

"But - "

"I really don't understand why we're wasting our breath on this when we could be having great sex. I'm damn uncomfortable, and I promise that doesn't just happen with any woman who walks by."

She hesitated.

His head fell back. "I'm in pain. I've been in pain for the past ten minutes. If that doesn't prove how much want you, I need to be shot and put out of my misery. If you don't want sex, at least come help me embarrass myself. Should I compose proses of your beauty right now, our night will end in less than a minute." The wooden chair groaned as he gripped the seat tighter. "Dear god, come help me for a moment, wife."

Sometimes love require blind trust. She unbuttoned her dress and let it fall.

He hissed in a sharp breath. "Tanya, you're playing with fire," he panted in agony.

The fact that he desired so strongly helped regain some confidence. She walked over and sat in his lap as she pulled off the chemise.

The man jerked her hips forward and crushed her against him as he lost himself in the next second. His chest heaved and body trembled as he panted, "Sorry. I wanted you so much - "

She captured his face in her hands and silenced him with a kiss.

A throaty moan and he found renewed desire.

Passion spoke louder tonight than words ever could.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don't touch," he breathed and leaned his head back against the headboard the next morning.

"It pains you. Let me work out the knots." She eased his pants down and reached underneath this thigh, as well as on top. "You can't be that vigorous in bed yet."

"Don't scold me, woman. You needed pleasing last night," he barked.

A hot flush worked its way up. "You pleased me quite well, but I don't want it at your expense."

"I'll decide what is enough to pay. Leave me be." He tried to bat her hands away from his poor thigh that had swollen worse overnight.

"You can't fight me doing your daily exercises. You're going to atrophy soon."

His eyes flicked to her in a dark scowl.

A soft laugh escaped. "Do not look at me like that. You need someone to look after you."

"I'm goddamn tired of my damn leg always being the center of our conversation."

"Be a good patient, and it wouldn't have to be."

"You seem to forget that I'm the surgeon. And the head of this household," he growled.

"Yes, but I'm the neck. Should you be too stubborn to face an issue, I most force you to look."

His eyebrows snapped together. "Don't sass me, wench." He pulled her hands away.

"You need - "

"To be left alone!" he yelled. "And you do not have liberty to strip me!" Jerking up his pants, with little care for his leg, he cursed when it protested the abuse.

"I hover only because I want to help this be easier on you," she said quietly.

"You want it to be easier? Pretend it's not there! Stop hovering like I'm some goddamn invalid!" he shouted with so much heartache. "I don't need you there every second all day to see what I can't do anymore!"

She swallowed hard. Last night, he'd been embarrassed when he'd struggled to make love in bed, but he'd sallied forth. Now it was apparent that he'd kept trying in order to help her overcome her own self-consciousness after those men's remarks. "It'll take time to figure things out. You're still fresh from surgery, and a prosthesis will - "

"Shut up, Tanya." He said it with his head turned away and without emotion.

It stung. Hard. Withdrawing her hands, she swallowed down the hurt and guilt. "I didn't want to make you ashamed instead last night."

In the next heartbeat, he pulled her into a fierce hug. "I'm sorry. I don't resent you or what we did last night."

"I don't understand why you're angry with me." She stroked his hair.

"Not with you - myself. You're learning to only see an invalid," he whispered. "I know you mean to make things better, but there are some things I just need Brigands for instead. I need to be able to feel like a man with you."

"Oh, Mark, you are. Like what things?"

He shook his head. "Exercises and getting dressed. Especially if I've bumbled through the previous night, I need you not there to see me struggle through the morning."

"Alright. But, just remember that if this was me, you'd want to help me do everything. I help in hopes of us figuring out ways to give you some independence back, not because I think you're an invalid."

"I know." He sighed and sat back to hold her hand instead. "At least right now, I need to stumble without you there seeing it all."

It was painful to know he had a hard time getting dressed in the mornings, and Brigands be the one to aid him privately in and out of the bath and with exercises. Throughout the day at work, he readily accepted her help, however.

"Tanya, I need you to assist," he said after the last patient left the clinic.

"Assist with what?" She followed him to the back hospital bed where he pulled the curtain and then sat. "Oh, Mark," she gasped when he bared his leg that bulged around the bandage. "How long has it felt swollen?" Unwrapping the bandage from around his waist and thigh as fast as possible, she touched it. "It feels slightly warm. Does it hurt?"

"I think just from the swelling pressure." He lifted the stump and inspected. "There has to be a clot somewhere. Is it red on the underside?"

"Yes, it looks like a red rash close to the end here. What does it mean?"

"Venous thrombosis. A handful of years ago, German physician Rudolf Virchow published Virchow's Triad. It states a blood clot - "

"A blood clot?! Won't it go to your lungs or heart or brain?!"

"Possibly, which is why we have to get it out. Listen, I'm trying to teach you, woman. Grab antiseptic, two clamps, sutures and a scalpel. His theory says causes could be hypercoagulation, hemodynamic changes or endothelial injury."

She washed and returned with the items. "Is it the trauma from surgery?"

"Not likely this far afterwards. Maybe the bandage has been too tight and caused a clot."

A few minutes later, she knelt beside the bed and stitched the small incision. "You're still numb?"

He grunted as he ground some herbs in the mortar and pestal.

"Doc?" The man sounded frantic. "Doc, ya here?"

"I'll go see." Wiping her hands, she got up and stepped around the curtain. "Good day, Mr. Jefferson. My husband is indisposed at the moment. Please, have a seat and he'll be right there."

"Ma'm, I ran on ahead of the old man and woman bringing him. An infant is being brought in. He's turning blue. They're right behind me." The usually calm man had a quiver in his voice and gave an anxious glance down the road.

"Alright, let me get Dr. Johnson."

"Hurry, ma'm. Hurry."

An odd sense of dread hit, followed by maternal instinct of panic. "Who is it?" The question had never popped up before because it never mattered who, just that excellent medical care was given. This time, though, a sinking feeling in the stomach said to ask.

Grief filled his eyes, followed by empathy.

Charles. She tore to the back.

Mark slapped a bandage on the unfinished incision and yanked up his pants. "I heard. It's Charles. Prepare for choking, anaphylactic reaction, asthma or cardiac arrest."

She ran to the supply closet. "Get what?" Tools touched every day looked foreign and suddenly lost functional purpose. Grabbing the first things in sight, her shaking hands knocked supplies over. Strong, steady hands caught hers and turned her around.

"Stop it," Mark commanded, "He's a patient, nothing more or you won't think straight. Us making an emotional judgement call is the difference between life and death. I know you can keep your head in a crisis. Do it."

"It's Charles." Tears welled.

"Tanya!" He shook her shoulders, his own voice quivering. "Don't you dare fall apart. He needs medical care, not hysterical parents."

"Mark!" Brigands's frantic yell filled the clinic, along with several sets of footsteps.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Slow down," Mark said in a low, calm voice and injected medicine into the tiny vein. "One, two, three," he chanted in a rhythm for her to match.

She slowed the chest compressions to his rhythm. "He should be breathing by now." Her hands shook uncontrollably. Mark's surgeon hands didn't fail him.

"We just got the object out of his throat. It'll take his body a moment to realize he can breathe again," he replied with such calmness and breathed into the little mouth. Then he took over compressions. "Come on, son." Mark's voice cracked this time, and his breaths into Charles came a bit too quick.

Setting a hand on Mark's arm slowed him down.

"Another half cc," he ordered, his hands beginning to shake.

Drawing up more medicine, she reached to inject the tiny arm. There was no way the shaking would ever stop enough to inject such a tiny target. That was it - the target. She looked up at Mark. "The heart."

"What?" He looked up with tears in his eyes.

"If we aren't pumping his blood enough, the drug isn't getting to his heart." She handed him the syringe.

He felt between ribs and stabbed in the syringe. When she resumed compressions, he grabbed her hands away.

The little chest twitched.

When he puffed in air, Charles started breathing. A string of medical orders followed, once again the surgeon working on a patient instead of his son. He listened with the stethoscope as she grabbed supplies.

Every sense zeroed in on Charles as he woke up crying minutes later.

"Don't cry, love. You'll be alright." Without a second thought, she opened her dress for Charles to nurse. To hold him close and cherish what had almost been lost. She looked up when Brigands laid a blanket over her for modesty, keeping his head turned away. Then he walked past Mark and returned to Teresa, who wept in the corner.

Mark didn't come over to the bed. A hand pressed to his eyes and his head bowed as he leaned his back against the wall. Those broad shoulders shook, suddenly unable to handle what had almost happened.

"Come hold him." She brushed at her eyes.

Pushing himself upright, he came over on the crutches and sat with an arm around her. His other hand stroked Charles's cheek.

"Is he going to have brain damage?"

His eyes didn't tear away from the babe. "I don't think so, but we'll examine him closely in the coming days and watch his development. It doesn't matter, though, because we'll still love him." Silence. "You did good, Tanya. He survived because of you."

"He almost died because of me." The sobs finally burst out. "I didn't know my earring fell off this morning into his crib."

"It was an accident." He tucked her head under his chin. "He's alright now."

"But what if he has brain damage?" She cradled Charles closer as he nursed.

"He'll be alright, Tanya. We'll just put earrings away until he's thirty years old." Mark wiped at his own eyes and pressed a kiss to her hair. "No more tricks until we're too old to realize it." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the babe's forehead. "We love you, son," he whispered.


	46. Chapter 46

She was exquisite. A year ago, she'd been meek, lost and ashamed. He'd been lucky enough to witness the blossoming into a courageous, humble and insanely intelligent woman. The beautiful creature didn't shrink from his sharp tongue, although it did seem to sting her more since the amputation. Sometimes it was painfully hard to feel worthy of her when even getting out of bed had its challenges. Or right now when she fussed, and giving up anything would be worth her not seeing him weak like this. She must fear his inability to protect her anymore; she didn't need to see this. "Go."

"No. There's no shame in being ill."

"There is when it's caused by stupidity," he mumbled as she wiped his wet brow with a cold rag.

"You worked nearly three days without sleep. We know now to not keep crushed aspirin near other drugs so someone doesn't grab the wrong one again. At least you realized it in time so we could make you vomit and get charcoal in."

An intense stomach cramp again. He gasped and curled his legs to his chest. Dear god, it threatened to rip him in two. "Go," he gasped.

Instead, she slid her hand in and rubbed his belly, forcing the spasm to end. "Why?"

Shit, he wouldn't make it to the washroom in time. Shoving back the sheets, he scrambled for the crutches.

"You're dizzy, and none of us can hold you up on crutches." She handed him a bedpan.

"Send Brigands after," he begged.

Thankfully, she nodded and let him humiliate himself in peace.

The professor arrived a half hour later. "I came as soon as I got the message." He walked over to the bed. "What have you done so far?"

"He accidentally took opium powder. Tremors set in moments later, and he had tachycardia. I induced vomiting and got charcoal in him, both ends. Symptoms subsided within minutes," she answered and wiped his wet brow again. "He's having terrible intestinal cramps. He said it's from the charcoal?"

The professor nodded. "It won't do any real harm if you gave a bit too much - it can cause constipation trying to get back out."

"I was so frantic, I just gave him the whole bottle." She looked at the professor in concern.

"We'll chase it down with milk of magnesia in a few hours, once we're certain the opium is gone."

"I just love having you two as physicians," he groaned and reached for the bedpan again.

* * *

At sunrise, she woke up with a devastatingly sleepy smile. Then she pulled back the sheets and gently moved his legs toward his chest and back down. "Being you don't have a leg for walking movement to help get your stomach going, this might help. Give me a little resistance to make your abdominal muscles flex."

It helped with the painful bloating too. He watched as she took care to not bump the incision on the end of the stump while flexing the hideous thing. "You don't have to touch it," he said quietly.

"It's no different than your other leg. Actually, I'd say it needs more touching and love." She pressed a kiss just above the incision and then resumed exercises.

His heart pounded. In the lantern light and when he couldn't fall much farther into pathetic helplessness in her eyes, there was nothing to lose. "It should repulse you." Pulling away, he forced himself to sit up and hide the withdrawl tremors that still hung on a bit.

The woman dropped her head back in exasperation. "You get sick of the topic, yet you bring it up all the time."

Clenching his teeth, he looked away and folded his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you feeling a bit better? You have more color and haven't gotten sick all night." The wench tilted her head in that adorable way that she had to know drove him crazy. Then she sinfully bit her bottom lip. "Your muscles have gotten bigger having to use crutches." She straddled his hips and ran her hands up his upper arms to rest on his shoulders.

"Sex will not fix this," he growled.

"Why are you always thinking about sex?" She smiled and pecked a kiss to his lips.

A scowl took over. "I didn't say I was thinking about sex!"

"Then why are you talking about it?" A giggle followed the words.

A deep growl gave a satisfactory vibration of irritation in his chest as he glared.

"I daresay my dragon is almost better."

Picking up the glass of water on the nightstand, he gave a dark look and took a drink.

"Are you going to put a babe in me soon?"

Water went down wrong as he choked. "What?" Wiping spit up water from his short beard, he shook the water off his hand. "We said we were going to wait until he was older."

She smiled and laid down beside him. "I'm just asking in case you changed your mind." The woman laid her head on his upper thigh, not seeming to care about the disgusting makeshift pillow.

"No. Why? Have you?" He eased the stump away.

The wench simply followed her new cushion and rolled onto her back to look up with those heart-melting eyes. "I'm alright to wait a few more months. If you feel better today, we should go lay out in the sun." She closed her eyes, as if utterly content and comfortable. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked up. "Why are you staring?"

"One would think there's something wrong with your head. This is not a pillow." Pulling away, he replaced his thigh with an actual pillow.

"Does it pain you if I lie on it?"

"Don't pity me, woman," he snapped, his voice cracking. Why didn't she realize how much worse this would make it hurt once she realized this was the best the disability would get? Once she'd pull away? Once she'd leave for a whole man? Swinging his leg over the edge of the bed, his chest constricted. One more time of her witnessing having to grab crutches to even stand was suddenly unbearable. To be so weak when she needed someone whole and strong to keep her monsters away...

Delicate hands touched his shoulders and a warm cheek rested against his back. Her gentle voice spoke near his ear. "I touch not because I pity, but because I cherish this gift you entrust only to me. I see the shame when you let me touch what you hate, but I also see the love underneath that gives you the courage to let me witness what you think is a weakness. You may never believe me that I love you more for this," her hand drifted down to rest atop of the mutilated abomination, "but I need you to trust me. I'm not Anna, Mark." Patience and compassion softened her tone.

His brow furrowed as tears stung, keeping his head bowed.

"Don't let us shrivel because you're afraid to let my love for you grow. This doesn't make you less of a man or protector." She pressed a kiss to his neck and then moved to sit beside him. "Are you worried about sex?"

"Oh, Jesus," he whispered in humiliation and pulled on his nightshirt.

"You don't...you don't seem to want me like you used to. Am I making it hurt or embarrassing you when we make love?" The woman sounded far too worried about his pleasure.

Reaching for the crutches, he pulled himself up. "Do I act like I'm not satisfied afterwards?" he snapped and swung the crutches forward to go to the closet.

Silence.

"You're slowly pushing me out, more and more. One day, I'm not going to be able to get back in," she said softly. So softly that the pain in it anchored his feet. "Is that it?" she continued, "You're so convinced I'm going to leave that you're trying to make me so you can at least see it coming?" Her voice trembled with heartbreak.

Was that it? It was gradually becoming instinct to snap at her since the amputation, to be harder than when she'd first come into his life.

"You have my bond slave papers - "

"That are no longer in effect being your first husband is legally dead," he cut in with little patience.

"Is that what you needed to feel safe that I wouldn't leave? You were different - you opened up more back then." She walked over, those beautiful eyes shimmering with tears and searching for an answer. "If that's what it takes, file new bondslave papers on me."

"Jesus, Tanya, I'm not taking slave papers out on you!" It hurt that she was willing to sacrifice her freedom, even knowing he'd never actually hold her to them. "It's bad enough that marriage makes you property, I'm not taking away your right to ever divorce me!" The words ripped out with years of heartache.

Hurt and anger boiled in her eyes. "Why would I ever divorce you?!"

"Because she wanted a divorce in her last days!"

Huge eyes stared.

The breath froze on his lips. The horrible secret had escaped, the secret that had been locked away so long in a deep, dark hole that it'd almost - almost - been forgotten as a just a bad dream. Turning away, he closed his eyes and cursed. Now his beautiful Tanya finally knew what a horrible husband he was and would be.

"Why? You said she consented to the treatment and stopped as soon as she wanted. You stayed with her all those months she was dying. You loved her." She sounded so confused.

"She didn't love me in the end." Regret tasted so bitter, even all these years later. "When I went to Africa for those six months while she figured out what she wanted, she'd taken lovers. She didn't say anything about it, and I thought we were working through it. She fell ill shortly after. Every time I'd turned to her for passion rather than procreation before her illness, she made it clear that only a pervert would touch his wife that way - that's what whores were for." He cleared his throat. "I found out in her last days that I'd given her a life that made her miserable. She'd apparently settled for me because it's what our families had expected as we grew up together. A childhood friend who had become a suitor she'd best be able to tolerate consummation.

"I'd always thought we'd been in love. Her dying wish was to..." He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, staring at the floor, "be with the man she'd fallen in love with when I was in Africa. I filed for the divorce and sent for him. Neither him nor the divorce papers made it in time before she died." Clearing his throat again, he blinked back the pain. "I wasn't a good husband and fear you'll wake up and realize you've wasted your life too. I know you do not favor her memory, but she was a good woman."

"How? You were gentler back then, and yet she saw you as a monster," she hissed. "You loved her and gave in to any whim she ever had. You were faithful and tried to give her passion. I believe her that she fell out of love with you once she became unfaithful because she had to paint you as a monster to justify that sin, but I don't for a second believe that she didn't at least have some feelings for you until then. If she didn't, she could've easily taken a townhome and lived a separate life from you like so many of the Upper Class do. No one would've thought anything of it, but she chose to stay with you all those years. You saved lives by inventing medicine, and she resented you for it. Did she once show any interest in anything you were passionate about? Did she ever support you? Did she ever once act as a partner, or just a spoiled princess who had no idea of the treasures she held?"

"Medicine is not a field fit for a marquess, much less for a woman," he snapped and turned to meet her hard eyes. "You were raised on nothing and would never see fault in anything I do!"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What, because I'm uneducated and poor? I see what an ass you can be! I know you're arrogant and pompously stubborn and have a temper that only an idiot puts up with! There are days when I'd love to throttle you! But I also see the good that far outweighs the bad, and that's why I stay! It's called love! You're a good man whose heart was abused, so now you keep it locked behind cold walls and throw barbs when anyone tries to get close! She convinced you that you're a monster, and no matter what I say, you'll always choose to believe her over me! I thought we were done having three of us in this marriage!"

"The best goddamn thing you could've done is left me for Thomas or whatever the hell that surgeon's name was when we reached America! I fucking struggle to walk! I'm not going to get better than this! I'm broken in so may fucking ways that it's impossible to count anymore!"

She stormed to the door and held the handle as a tear rolled down her cheek. "This is real love - to see you for your flaws and accept you, to encourage your passions no matter how unconventional. I worship the ground you walk on because, to me, you're perfect with your explosive temper and uneven gait and insanely genius mind." Her face crumpled, causing tears to sting for her pain. "I've never been more than a scarlet letter or a pawn for someone's gain. Even my own father sold me multiple times in exchange for free drink. I didn't know what to do when you came along and loved me. But I'm not so sure anymore if you love me more than you'd love me to hate you. I'd rather go back to being the Injun whore than beg to be loved. Maybe I should've listened in England when you tried to get rid of me."

That arrow struck and forced a tear down his cheek. "Those weeks when we were separated were the worst days of my life," he croaked. Oh god, all this time she'd been gradually breaking, and he hadn't even realized what he'd been doing to her by pushing her away. "You have never been a whore or an Injun." His voice broke on the horrible words.

"Figure out what you want." Her lower lip quivered, tearing his soul in half. "These past weeks, I've been trying to convince myself I'm not just some obligation you tolerate out of honor, because that's how it feels sometimes." Then she walked out and quietly shut the door.

His chest shuddered, and he hurried out, not caring what an ass he'd look like trying to chase down the street after her on crutches in a nightshirt. Sniffling came from the baby's room. He turned and went in.

She shoved nappies and clothes into a satchel as Charles laid in the crib and chewed on the toy horse given to Tanya during her hospitalization in England.

"What are you doing?" She was packing. This was the moment he'd been preparing for since putting a ring on her finger. Cold terror clutched at the thought of her truly leaving.

"You need space to figure out if you want me," she sniffled and kept packing without turning around.

Swallowing hard, he forced down the insecurities. Everything in life had built up to this moment. He'd finally shoved so hard that she was ready to give up everything to see him happy. If she walked out that door, there'd be too much damage to ever save her heart and bring her back. Their marriage and his entire world hung on this moment. "I already know that I want you. You don't need to go for me to know I love you so much that I'd die for you. I fucked up, and I have no idea how we're supposed to get through this amputation, but...don't leave me. Please, Tanya."

Her shoulders shook and she bowed her head, pressing a hand to her eyes.

He walked up and pressed his chest to her back as he set a hand on her shoulder. "We're both upset and making no sense. Don't go," he whispered.

"I don't want you to beg. I just want you to be happy, and I'm making you as miserable as she says you made her."

"No, you're not." He wrapped his arms around and pressed a kiss to her neck. "You and Charles are the only sunshine I can see in this darkness."

"Why do you always comment on my looks if it doesn't shame you?"

"So you don't worry if your looks shame me. You brought it up a few days ago because you were ashamed what those men said." He stroked her arm and braced the other crutch to move her braid aside and see her profile.

She brushed at her eyes but still wouldn't turn around. "Because I'm afraid you'll be ashamed if you aren't prepared for what people say about me."

A deep sigh stirred strands of her hair. "You're more than looks. Perhaps I'm eccentric then. I find your looks very beautiful because they are uncommon. I've seen a Native American woman or two here in America, and you don't quite look like them. The mix of English makes your bone structure and features far more delicate, far more beautiful than any Native American or English or African or any ethnicity I've seen. Did it ever occur to you that Englishwomen disliked you because your looks were ones they tried to achieve by painting their faces with rouge?"

"You're just trying to save your hide."

"No." He wrapped his arms around to hold her from behind. "I'm trying to convince my wife that I believe she's exquisite. I mean nothing more than to allay your fears when I comment on your features."

"Do you only want me to warm your bed?" She sounded genuinely confused.

He sighed. "No. I'm a stupid man. Anna instilled a very real fear that I cannot satisfy a woman in any way. Having the most basic difficulties of in the bedchamber now have fed that insecurity in ways even I can't understand. It's..." god, how humiliating, "it's difficult to maintain arousal because my leg does pain me sometimes in bed, and I'm also nervous if I'll please you. Then desire wanes, which makes me more nervous and begets a cycle."

She turned in his arms and set her hands on his chest. That had to be a good sign. "You're so quick in bed since surgery not because you don't want me, but because you're worried I won't want you?"

"You've been thinking all this time it's because I actually wanted to get done faster?"

Biting her lip, she nodded. "It didn't make sense that you said it's because you want me more."

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he pulled her closer to his chest. "It would be emasculating to not be able to please you now too. I..."

She stroked his back. "Tell me so we can make this better, Mark."

"It's very..." oh god, it was degrading, "I can't...I can't get you pregnant right now."

The woman pulled back so fast that he almost fell forward. She caught his arms and steadied him, but her eyes remained wide. "You mean, you've been _faking_ it?"

"Only a few times," he pleaded. "I figured it's temporary. Right after surgery, I didn't fake anything. Since going back to work, I...don't know." His face burned.

"Is it stressful being back at work?" She seemed more concerned than disgusted or angry.

He looked away. "We work on men who are very physically fit. It's not always easy to see them flirt with my beautiful wife when I can't walk, much less perform in the bedchamber."

"Is this why you've been pulling away? For heaven sakes, Mark, all this heartache these weeks has certainly not been worth it for this. Should you ever have some kind of accident or something where the family jewels had to be sacrificed, I would certainly still find a great deal of pleasure in other sexual acts." The woman said it so matter of fact that it did seem silly now. She set her hands on her hips and glared like she scolded a naughty child. "What's the real reason behind you getting so surly when I touch your leg then?"

A deep frown made his brow hurt. "That you'll see it as a shortcoming and something to be repulsed. Don't scold me."

"I have every right to scold when you've been so pigheaded these past weeks that we've both been nursing broken hearts for no good reason."

"Ask any man, and he'll say it's sound reason!" he huffed.

"Ask any woman, and she'll say you're an idiot. Go wait for me in the bedchamber while I nurse the babe."

"Why?"

"Go. You don't get to know why yet for your idiocy." She opened her nightgown and started nursing Charles, who eagerly accepted breakfast.

"Should I wish to be part of the intimacy of my wife nursing my son, I shall. Get in our chambers."

She cracked a smile. "He'll protest if we interrupt his breakfast."

"I'd protest too, if that's how I was permitted to eat."

Her mouth fell open in shock. "That's not proper to say at all."

"Oh, I have plenty of improper things I'm going to say in bed, wife." He draped a blanket over her shoulder for modesty and guided her into the bedchamber.

Once inside, he leaned against the headboard and pulled her against his chest to help Charles finish breakfast from her scarred breast. "You know, never would I have imagined that it'd be cherished moments to help my wife breastfeed our babe." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

Brown eyes met his. "Never would I have thought a man would find my breast anything but repulsive," she said softly. "Just perhaps, husband, it is similar to how I feel about your leg."

He let that comment go without remark and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Once Charles was asleep for his morning nap, she climbed back in bed.

"Tanya," he pleaded minutes later when she touched his thigh and desire began to wane.

"Get out of your head," she whispered against his lips and moved her hand to between his legs.

Only, the direct contact caused more stress and a more counterproductive reaction. "Tanya," he whimpered and tried to pull her hand away.

She relented and rose onto her knees to straddle his hips as she looked into his eyes. "We won't force your pleasure, but you do need to relearn how to relax in bed." The woman pulled off her nightgown and tossed it aside. "What would please you to do to me?"

He frowned. "Tell me what pleases you."

"Me?" She blinked. "That's not the point."

"You always want to please me. Make some demands, woman. Did you ever think about it that it'll please me to see you pleased?"

"Oh. I suppose it does take the pressure off of you." She bit her lip. "Well, you're not going to like my answer." When he cocked his head in question, she gave a small smile. "I like it when you're vocal." Her cheeks burned an adorable pink.

His eyebrows rose. "Do you now? Let me hear how much that pleases you, wife." His hand slipped under her nightgown as he laid her down.

* * *

Reclining in the tub in his lap that evening, she smiled and stroked his arm. "I think that's the worst and best fight we've ever had."

"How so?" He trailed the washrag up her chest, taking his time to glide along the hills and valleys.

"I came extremely close to staying at a neighbor's house for the night."

"For tonight? I thought you were going to leave me for good." The man leaned forward a bit to meet her eyes.

She frowned. "Leave you? You're not getting rid of me that easily." Then she tilted her head back and pecked a kiss on his lips. "It was the best fight because look at what we worked through today."

That earned a snort as his cheeks turned red. "I didn't expect to react like that in bed and that fast."

She gave a shy smile. "I'm glad that I pleased you that much. If you got me with child, it just means we can be spontaneous in bed the next nine months."

"You're fertile right now too, aren't you?"

Her silky brown hair stroked his chest as she nodded. "Would you be disappointed if I'm pregnant?"

"Of course not. It's not an ideal time right now, but we'd figure out how to make it work, sweetheart." Silence. He pressed his cheek to her temple, something in his voice catching. "Never doubt that I love you, Tanya. With my whole heart."

Her fingers slipped down to lace with his, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I love you too. I know you're ashamed of your leg, but I need you to trust me that I'm not. I'll try to not hover so much, if you'll speak up when you need help. I just want to make things easier for you."

"I know you do, but sometimes easier will only come if I figure out how to do things for myself. We'll start with I have to ask twice a day."

"For now."

"Help me out of the tub tonight?" He pressed a kiss in her hair.

A smile burst free, her heart fluttering with hope. "You'll have to teach me."

"Mostly handing me the crutches and holding my arm so I don't fall backwards when standing from the edge of the tub. I'll teach you, my Tanya."


	47. Chapter 47

It was hard to have steady hands, with so much excitement and nervousness. Kneeling at the side of the bed, one last check that everything was as it should be, and then Mark would be set. The smile couldn't be contained. "I think it's good."

Mark had a solemn expression as she stood. He took their hands and got up.

"Does it hurt anywhere? Any pressure points?" The professor leaned down and felt along the edge of the prosthesis padding.

"I don't think so." His eyes met hers. A small, hesitant smile tugged up the corners of his lips.

"You're standing." Tears threatened. It'd been nearly four months since he'd stood without canes or crutches.

The professor distracted from further conversation as he straightened. "Let's try a few steps. Mrs. Johnson, hold his hand, but brace your forearm under his. Keep your other hand on his chest. If he falls, it'll likely be forward or a collapse straight down. Mark, when I strapped a prototype on my knee to mimic using the mechanics of the joints she designed, I had to give a small flick to get the ankle and knee to set forward again. If you don't, the prosthetic foot won't be in proper alignment, and you'll trip. Put your good leg forward to test it a few times before we actually walk with the prosthesis. Ready?"

Mark's grip tightened as he nodded and looked down. He set his good leg forward. The prosthesis dragged a bit and didn't reset, making him grab them to not lose balance.

"Hold him." She knelt and reset the joints for him. "The end of your thigh is your foot now - you have to use the height of that to know if you're lifting your leg high enough to not trip. It'll feel like this." She stood and lifted his thigh in a mimicked step. "About here." Holding his leg up gave a moment for him to remember how high to lift it. "This is a tad higher than you need, but it'll give you leeway until you get used to it." Kneeling again, she positioned the prosthesis to take a step. "Lift and give a slight flick to reset it."

It took a few times before he got the feel of how much to flick, but he didn't hesitate to keep trying.

"Ready to try walking again?" She tucked her arm under his again.

He nodded, concentration furrowing his brow. The first step was better, but the flick not enough to lock the joints. He started to collapse. His arm locked and he shifted his weight to his good leg, giving a small kick with the prosthesis to lock it. It was just in time to catch himself from falling.

"Good, Mark!" She smiled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

It only took minutes until he was ready to try with a cane. "Go over by the door," he said with hope shining in his eye.

Clasping her hands together in nervousness, she stood at the other end of the room as the professor held Mark's arm just in case. He almost collapsed once, but his brow knit with determination.

When he arrived, those blue eyes burned with the taste of freedom right around the corner. "Stairs next."

"Slow down, cowboy," the professor laughed, "we have to check your leg to make sure it's not rubbing anywhere. You can't wear the prosthesis all day until your skin builds up tolerance." He took Mark's arm and steered him toward the bed before any protests could arise.

Once Mark sat on the edge of the bed, those blue eyes lifted to meet hers while the professor removed the prosthesis.

The smile and happiness faded upon seeing his uncertainty. Walking over, she knelt beside the surgeon and set a hand over Mark's in comfort. A questioning look was all it took to lock eyes.

He eased his leg free from the surgeon and guided her hand to rest on the top of his thigh where a makeshift sock gave extra padding. It was his permission to remove the sock herself and check his leg. The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to look away.

What precious trust he gave that didn't come without months of tears and anxiety to reach it. Almost six weeks ago, he'd finally let her help with one of his two daily examinations to make sure his leg didn't ulcer or swell. But, it'd been longer than that since he'd let her help with bandage changes or getting dressed. This came with such great responsibility, especially when he was so vulnerable using a prosthesis for the first time.

Nervousness clouded his eyes, but he gave a small nod.

"Tell me if it hurts," she whispered and slowly unbuttoned his pants to be able to remove the bandage anchored around his waist. "I - " a glance over her shoulder revealed the surgeon gone.

"He said he'd step out while you check," Mark said softly.

"Oh. I didn't hear him." Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she focused on easing his pants down. Her heart beat hard, drawing more fear of finding a red spot of irritated flesh that would ruin his last hope of ever having a prosthesis...or of saying or doing the wrong thing to make him never open up like this again. Finding the end of the bandage at his waist, she began to unwrap him. The bandage wrapped very high on his thigh to control swelling, leaving no choice but to brush his male anatomy. His sexuality was so fragile lately that she automatically hesitated.

"I can, if you don't..." His voice trailed off in quiet self-consciousness. 'Want to' hung in the air unspoken.

"No, I just wasn't sure if you'd want me to." Looking up, she met his eyes. "I want to, if it's alright."

"You don't need permission." His voice remained subdued and vulnerable.

So she gently worked the bandage free. "Is it uncomfortable having the bandage so high? It seems like it'd be unfortunate to be a male. I can try figuring out something else."

A hint of a smile chased away the self-consciousness in his eyes, but he remained silent.

"Sorry. Papa always said I babble when I'm nervous." Bowing her head to hide the embarrassment at embarrassing him, she eased the sock off Hero and quickly unwrapped the rest of his leg.

"And I tend to be silent when I'm nervous." His voice held a slight huskiness this time. "Silence isn't always a sign of irritation." Then that note of self-consciousness leaked in again. "I finish wrapping myself when I reach that point. I can't do it as comfortable as the few times you've wrapped my leg. Should you be available when I reach that point each morning, would you help wrap? It's easier with three hands. I'm not keen on Brigands helping me adjust myself."

She nodded and offered a smile.

He glanced down at the limb and then looked away, his posture tense.

"I know you hate it, but it is only wise for you to learn what feels normal so swelling can be treated before it becomes a problem. Tell me if it hurts." A gentle palpation over the limb didn't seem to cause pain.

"You should be more repulsed than I am," he snapped.

"You show no signs of disgust for amputee patients. It is your fear of its imaginary limitations that make you hate your own leg."

His brow snapped together when a hard lump appeared under her fingers on the side of his thigh, but he quickly forced a passive expression to hide the pain.

"You haven't done your exercises for a few days, have you?" When he opened his mouth, she snorted. "You've taught me too well - I recognize when a muscle knot is from misuse, so don't even try arguing. Lie on your side for exercises before this knot causes rubbing and an ulcer." She slid up his pantaloons for modesty.

Not a single protest came forth as he settled on the bed and propped up on his elbow to look over his shoulder. "Has your time come yet?"

"No, I said I'd tell you." That stress had been forgotten about with all this prosthesis excitement.

He cracked a smile and glanced at her flat belly. "Three days late. Let me check for a babe after he leaves."

"We agreed after a week. If it's a miscarriage, I don't want to know."

The poor man hissed in a breath as she stretched him to the side. "God, Tanya, must you?"

"Not doing it is how you got here." Relenting would only lead to more serious problems later.

"It's wise to know if you start having a history of miscarriages."

"I hope I'm not with child just so you have to keep climbing on me and learn to not be ashamed of your leg. You check, and don't tell me until I bleed or I'm two weeks late," she snapped.

A deep frown wrinkled his brow, but she brought the surgeon in before he could say anything.

She pulled down her skirts an hour later and shot up without looking at him. "I'm going to feed Charles, and then we can go to work."

"Are you angry that I checked?" He sounded confused.

"No." She yanked open the door and slipped out.

Holding Charles as he nursed, she chewed her lip as her hands shook. All the symptoms of pregnancy were there, just like every month before that time came. But this month, there was a fullness sensation in her belly. And the thought that the damage from the rape might not sustain Mark's babe was terrifying. His books said the risk of miscarriage was highest these eight weeks as it was.

A knock on the nursery door and he came in wearing the prosthesis and using the crutches to help balance. Deep concern crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Don't, just don't." She looked down at Charles drifting off to sleep as he ate.

Silence.

She glanced up.

He stood behind the door, staring at the floor with heartache written all over his face. With a small nod, he backed out and closed it.

After settling Charles down to sleep longer, she went into the bedchamber. Empty. Brigands and Teresa cooked in the kitchen. "Did Mark come down?"

"Yes, my lady. He said to tell you that he would be at the clinic catching up on work." Brigands wore his professional expression - that he only took on when something was wrong.

"Was he upset?"

The dear man needed no further prompting. "He seemed quite subdued and sad. He's probably still trying to make his way there."

Her brow furrowed. "He went in the prosthesis? It's too soon!" Without waiting for an answer, she ran out the front door.

A lone figure made slow, labored progress down the road. Even at a distance, his gait portrayed physical pain.

She ran up and tucked herself under his arm for support. "You're an idiot. It's too soon to go this far on your leg."

Not a sharp word or response at all. Instead, he seemed to withdraw into himself even more, as if her tongue had cut through his thick hide.

"I'm even more of an idiot." She wrapped her arm around his waist to help take more of his weight as he struggled harder with each step.

"You are only an idiot for taking a poorer end of the bargain," he stated quietly. "I know I bring nothing but hardship, and no one faults you for getting angry about it. Most would've lost patience long ago." The heartache in his tone brought tears to her eyes.

"You think I'm angry with you?" Her eyebrows rose. "Mark, you bear this because you came to rescue me. How could I ever be angry? I'm scared about a babe, not upset with you."

He turned and eased himself down on the barbershop step, his brow damp and eyes squinted from pain even though he tried not to show it. Concern deepened the creases of pain at the corners of his eyes. "If I pressed myself upon you when it wasn't wanted - "

Setting a finger to his lips, she shook her head. "You'd never do that. Your books say a miscarriage is most likely in the first months, and I'm scared that the scarring raises the risk." She sat beside him and set a hand on his poor leg. "I know you need to know as a physician, but this is one instance when I wish the surgeon and husband line didn't cross. And no, I'm not comfortable with another man doing the exam."

"So, you're upset that I had to check, but you didn't want someone else to do it?" He looked confused. When she nodded, he sighed. "Women are so complicated. Surgery repaired much of the damage. I wouldn't propose another babe if I thought you had a high risk of miscarriage."

She leaned her head against his shoulder as his hand slipped into hers. "Mark?"

A soft grunt.

"Why did you run off? That's not exactly like you. You seem...well, you seem like you've had some degree of depression since that amputation," she said carefully. "Perhaps depression isn't the right word. I know you struggle with self-confidence now, but we talked about it, and you've been letting me help more. It feels like there's this glass wall that's been up since your leg, and sometimes we're alright. Other times, it feels like we try to pretend to not see that wall."

With a sigh, he leaned his elbows on his thighs and stared out at the field. "From the time I was out of the nursery room, I was groomed to control any situation. Whenever not effective, I was taught to throw the weight of my title around. I've never known how to figure out making pennies stretch for dollars. In England, I knew how to make things work. I didn't know how to be a husband or father, but I knew how to not have to rely on anyone else for survival. Here, we're no longer at the mercy of patients paying, but we're at the mercy of Price. You work here as much as I. It's not the life I thought I'd give you here."

"But it's a life with you. It's more than I had growing up."

"And I saw the way you looked after Charles choked. I see the way you look at him when we have to leave in the mornings. You said you never wanted a nanny, yet you're forced to leave him with Teresa and Brigands all day to work."

"Mark, you cannot put this pressure on yourself. I enjoy working with you, and it's only until we figure out what to do that I have to be gone all day. We're close enough that they bring him for meals, or I run home. At least there's no wet nurse."

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "At least there's no wet nurse." Bitterness filled his words. "At least my wife gets an 'at least.'" He sounded so disgusted and started pacing, despite his worsening limp.

"Honey, I didn't mean it like that. Sit. The prosthesis is rubbing and you hurt."

A bitter laugh erupted and he threw up his free hand. "Do you even realize how you've aged since we've come to America? You don't have that girlish, carefree look in your eyes anymore! You'd never complain or admit it, but you're pulled in so many directions with everyone needing things from you that your smile doesn't reach your eyes anymore!"

"I am happy." She frowned and stood. "Mark, where is this coming from?"

"You aren't happy like you were when first wed. You're trying to be a mother and wife and nurse and business owner and my caretaker and... Tanya, you're burning out and don't even see it coming."

"So, what? You want me to quit the clinic? Stop helping you with your leg and watch you struggle?!" She kept her voice down for privacy when shouting would feel so much better.

"You aren't happy!"

"I'm with _you_! That's all I wanted! We have food and shelter and - "

"Hell, it's a step above a drunk, penniless father! You're not cleaning up my vomit, just round-the-clock care for an invalid!"

"Would you listen to yourself?!" she shouted with tears in her eyes and thrust a finger at him. "This is what I hate! This is what's tearing us apart! I hate that you tear yourself down like this and leave me to try to put together the pieces! I - "

"You hate this life! You're miserable! Goddamn admit it!" he roared.

"I'm miserable in moments like this!" The world stilled. Her heart stopped as the realization hit, and her voice broke. "I hate being scared every moment of every day that you're going to leave. No matter what I say, you'll always keep a wall up to brace for me leaving while you try so hard to push me to go."

His eyes widened in horror.

"You're not the same man you were in England. If you'd trust me, you'd see how much stronger you are. I want to lean on you, but you're too scared to even lean on yourself. We go round and round with this conversation. I'm sick of it. We aren't thriving here. I want to leave. I want to start over where we aren't in a Society of classes or in debt to anyone or working like dogs. I want to go to Grandfather's tribe." Pulling a note out of her pocket, she handed it to Mark.

 _My dearest granddaughter,_

 _As you know by now, our tribe was lost in the war. The few of our people who were left have gone northeast to where Grandfather's people came from centuries ago. They are a large, strong tribe and very kind. Grandfather is an Elder there - one of the eleven men considered wise enough to help lead the people. There are so many that another medicine man is needed. These brothers are open to new ways. We've spoken to them of our granddaughter and her white man husband who is the best medicine man from the other side of the world._

 _This way of life would be foreign to you and Mark, but it is a place to belong. Many of the loners after the war of many tribes have come here. This is a place of peace and plenty and acceptance. I wish for you to come and at least see it. My hope is you'll stay, but we'll come with you if you choose to go back to the English world, granddaughter._

 _We love you,_

 _Grandfather and Grandmama_

"You are happy when you practice medicine, but you aren't happy here either, Mark. I wish we could take the house, but we can give it to the man from last week who lost both of his legs in the tree accident. He has five children and his house isn't accessible in his wheelchair. Let's go visit. The postmaster said where Grandmama is only takes a few days to get there. Maybe this is where we're meant to be."

He gave a slow nod and folded the letter.

"You don't agree."

"I've expressed my fears of you being in a tribe."

"But this is a peaceful, large one. We don't have to live in a teepee, if we stay. We can build a home near there. Let's at least go visit and see."

"A visit. I promise nothing more. Should soldiers sweep through, I'm bringing you back here, no arguments. I'm not watching you or Charles be gutted, or herded up like cattle and sold into slavery."

Her eyes widened.

"The professor said Native Americans are becoming targets for slavery." He gave a levelling look. "He said our marriage isn't necessarily binding in all territories of America. If you insist on this trip into danger, I..." He looked ill. "I insist on a way to ensure your and Charles's safety. We delay the trip long enough to have slave papers drawn up."

She nodded.

* * *

"In the back car," the train conductor ordered.

Mark frowned. "There's plenty of room in this car. The luggage car isn't fit for a woman and babe."

"Injuns don't ride up here."

"She's Spanish," Mark snapped. "We will sit in this car." His tone held that of a marquess not used to being questioned.

"I've seen plenty of this breed. She's Injun. Back car or get off the train!"

Giving a soft tug on Mark's sleeve, she started to hand over Charles, who could pass for a white babe yet.

"No. We'll all go in the back." He set a hand on her back to usher her off.

"That'll be ten dollars."

Mark shot ramrod straight and turned. "Ten dollars to sit on top of luggage?" he seethed.

After paying the conductor and helping her into the hot, dark luggage car, he handed over Charles and then struggled to hoist himself up. She led him to a trunk where he could prop his leg up and then settled herself on a trunk near him. Charles slept soundly, thankfully, as she settled him in her lap and hunched over to try to ease the monthly pains.

"Your time has started, hasn't it? You have that inward look of pain." He scooted over to make room on his trunk for her.

She moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder as he pressed on her back. The jostling in this car hurt. "Your leg won't take this for long," she gasped with another hard cramp.

"I'll be fine. Tanya? You weren't pregnant. It was early to tell for certain, but I don't believe it's a miscarriage."

With a nod, she sighed. "I'm sorry we have to ride here."

"Hush. There's no reason to apologize." He kissed the side of her neck.

The farther West, the more people recognized her features. And the more Mark was denied service until she had to remain hidden in the luggage car while he procured inn rooms and then snuck her in the back doors.

Mark finally couldn't handle the poor train conditions bouncing his leg, so he procured the only other means - a postchaise that was different looking than the ones in England. Only a couple passengers could fit inside.

She glanced at a colored man holding the back of the carriage up near the luggage.

"Two tickets," Mark told the driver.

The man looked down his nose at her. "The Brown stays."

Mark blinked, as it seemed to take him a moment to register the new vulgar word for her. "She and the babe ride inside."

"Only whites and slaves ride, and they ride in the back. We don't serve wild heathens."

A long-winded, angry sigh came from Mark. Gritting his teeth, he glanced at her in apology. "I have ownership papers." He looked ill as he pulled out the slave papers and showed them to the man.

"You take full responsibility for her behaviour?"

"She's not an animal," he said in disgust, "She's my wife."

"A good fuck?" he smirked.

Mark shoved him against the carriage by the collar. "Should we ever meet without a lady present, I'll be more than happy to introduce you to some men who can show you a good fuck," he hissed.

"Mark!"

The other man jumped down and cocked a gun at him.

Mark simply snatched it and backed up a step to aim at the driver. "I suggest you drive before you're caught in a highway robbery."

When the carriage hurried away, Mark looked at the gun. "Hm, this is a nice one." Then he pocketed it and turned to her. "My apologies. It looks like the train is our best option."

"Mark? What's the difference between bond slave and slave papers?" she asked in the luggage car.

He swallowed hard and met her eyes. "It is a step lower - the only type of papers available for Native Americans. You should hear it from me so you're prepared for any gossip. It...it gives me legal right to your body however I please too."

She frowned. "But marriage gives a man right to rape his wife too."

"In some areas, marriage to a Native American isn't recognized. In those cases, it could be claimed that any man has right to enslave you. This paper is a way to give me legal action to protect you as my 'property.' I'm...I'm beginning to understand why your father took your mother to Spain. There are dangers out here to you that I didn't understand when we were in England."

"Do you wish to live in Spain? You're about as discriminated as I am, being with me."

"We will see what life is like out West. If it poses a danger to you, I will not promise that we stay." He took her hand. "Know that whether I have to say you're Spanish or a slave, it doesn't mean I'm ashamed of you. Situations will arise when it's simply a matter of your safety."

She nodded. "I know. I love you."

"I love you, my lady love."

* * *

"Grandmama, I'm so naked." Looking down at herself days later in Grandmama's teepee, she frowned. A deerskin dress that left her shoulders, arms and legs bare in the summer heat was too indecent.

"Nonsense. The men are helping Mark dress in customary clothes for the weather too. You look beautiful."

Some other women in the tribe put small braids at the front of her hair with feathers at the end and a beaded necklace around her throat.

"You beautiful," one of the women about her age said in broken English.

One of the other women touched her brown hair that didn't match their black locks, saying something to another woman with a nod of approval.

"They are jealous of your beauty, but they said you seem too kind to be a threat to the single men in the tribe," Grandmama whispered.

Her eyes widened. "I'm wed."

"The Elders would have a right to dissolve the marriage being Mark is a white man, and you were given without permission from Grandfather. However, he convinced them that you are happy. They'll announce the intended courtship tonight."

"Courtship?"

Grandmama nodded. "You weren't properly wed. You and Mark shall have a courtship and then a wedding."

"Grandmama, we're wed in the world I grew up in. Mark will not undergo three tests - "

"His leg already proves his love. He's highly respected by the Elders for it already. You shall want a courtship to make your marriage known by our customs - word of Mark's bravery and intellect spread, and you might have to fight off some of the women. Now, off you go."

The women pushed her out of the teepee in the center of their tribe where the Elders lived. She stumbled out and blushed hard as Mark was pushed out of another hut. He was shirtless in deerskin pants and wore some type of necklace. His breadth dwarfed the other men, and he stood a head taller than them. The pants and moccasins hid his prosthesis enough that only the cane gave him away.

His eyes perused up, causing an intense blush. The dress clung far too tight for decency. And then it dawned that it probably showed the breast deformity. Pulling her hands up under her chin, she hid it from view.

He limped across the gap and smiled. "You look beautiful." His hand eased her arms down. "Don't hide," he whispered in encouragement. "It is hardly noticeable, if aware of the injury. And only I know, sweetheart."

Then he slipped his necklace over his head. "Tiger said I must court you, which apparently requires making the woman a gift. I'm not yet skilled in hunting or anything, so this is all I have to offer."

With a shy smile, she reached to take it, but Grandmother's hand stopped her. "No, Tanya."

"But - " She frowned.

Mark smothered a smile, but confusion danced in his eyes. "I didn't do it right?"

"Did you ask for Tiger's permission to court her?" Grandmama glanced at Grandfather, who stood among the Elders with a frown.

"I did."

"But in front of the Elders?" Grandmama asked gently.

"Oh." The dear man looked uncertain what to do. "It's too late now?"

"Out of respect to the Elders, you must reject his gift. Usually, he would be banned from courtship for several months as punishment. Because he is still learning our ways, he will return tomorrow with a gift. And the next few evenings."

She frowned. "Why?"

"To show that he is devoted enough to you that he'll pursue. He shall not be allowed to approach you in public until then. You'll sleep in the teepee with Grandfather and I until you're wed."

"He can't see Charles?"

"Your grandfather will take him to Mark each day." Grandmama patted her hand. "Come, Tanya."

As Grandmama pulled her away, she looked back at Mark. A soft smile touched his lips, with a little bit of heartache at not being with her for a week.

The ways of Grandfather's people were foreign, but everyone seemed happy to teach her. The men remained separate for the most part, except for the evenings when the tribe gathered around fires to celebrate the return of the Medicine Man's long-lost granddaughter.

Mark sat with the men and conversed, but he often let his eye wander to her.

"Your cheeks red when White Man look."

She looked to the left at the man who spoke. It was Bear, the most respected hunter who bore scars on his chest from a bear attack he'd won. He was very quiet and rumored to become an Elder in the next few years for his wisdom - the youngest Elder in their history, and he was a year younger than Mark. "I grew up in the white man's world. I wed him months ago when I came to America."

"You love White Man?" He studied Mark.

"I do. That's not the name he's been given, is it?" Grandmama said her name was going to be Sunshine, for bringing light back to her grandparents. She frowned and looked over at Mark. His eyes narrowed across the fire on Bear.

"He has skill?"

"Of course he has skills! He's a very respected medicine man and highly intelligent businessman - "

"What animal he fight eat his leg?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Five men who had knives and guns," she said with her nose in the air.

Bear turned his gaze to her and smiled. "You not obedient woman."

Shooting to her feet, she headed toward where Grandmama sat with the older women fussing over Charles.

"It good. Not obedient women smart." He fell into step beside her. "You read?"

"Of course I can read!"

"Books. I have lots from Englishman trade for horse. You teach me?"

She stopped. Books. How many months it'd been since having a book that wasn't an outdated medical textbook. "Why?"

"Want to learn English. Read English, be intelligent job." When her eyebrow cocked, he scratched his neck. "Wrong word. You Englishman buy horse." Then he touched his chest. "I know English words. Make money."

"You want to learn English so you can make better negotiations?"

"Yes!" He grinned.

Heaving a sigh, she looked back at the gathering near the fire. Mark's gaze still zeroed in on her, paying little attention to the commotion around him. Then she looked up at Bear. "I'll ask my grandmother if this is proper."

Bear followed her over, taking her hand as she stepped over a log seat. She pulled it away immediately.

Grandmother looked up, her smile fading upon seeing the physical contact. After hearing the situation, she looked to Bear and spoke in a foreign tongue. Then Grandmama turned. "I told him that he is to maintain proper distance, as Mark has received approval from the Elders to court you. In exchange for your teaching, Bear will teach you our language. It will be done in public in front of our hut for propriety."

* * *

Another item sat outside the hut the next morning. A fur rabbit skin, misshapen woven basket and crooked clay pot were in the mix of gifts waiting every morning. Nothing had arrived yesterday morning, but this morning was a bassinet woven of very fine reeds. It was lopsided and more triangular than square, but it was just as endearing as every gift that Mark had attempted.

Bear headed over with two cups of coffee, a book under his arm and another trinket to make chores easier, just like every morning. It looked like he carried a washboard this morning. Her heart fell a little, again no sign of Mark.

That afternoon, one of the women with child left the tribe and headed toward the woods. "Where is she going?" Setting down the book, she stood to see when the woman doubled over in pain and then kept heading for the woods. "Bear, I think she's giving birth."

"Women have baby, then come back." He acted so nonchalant.

Her eyes flew to him. "Alone? No women go with? What about Grandfather? Surely he must attend."

The woman fell to her knees and cried out in pain - far too much pain for childbirth. Without waiting for an answer, she shot across the tribe, darting around huts and people to where the men gathered to go hunting. "Mark!"

All heads turned in surprise and Mark emerged from the group.

"A woman left to birth, and something's wrong!" Dodging under his arm, she slid an arm around his waist to help him hurry.

Grandfather ran ahead and grabbed both his and Mark's medical bags.

"No." Elders stepped before them and pulled her away. "No women. Tiger fix."

"If she has placenta previa or a ruptured uterus, she'll need surgery. I need Tanya there," Mark argued.

"Tiger fix," they ordered.

Mark glanced over at her and pushed forward through the Elders.

She waited several minutes until the men were distracted and then ran around the outside of the tribe to where Mark and Grandfather had started surgery in the middle of the field.

"Tanya, boil some water and crush the purple herbs in Tiger's bag. We're completely unsterile and need to apply that poultice internally so she doesn't get infection."

Running back to the tribe, she had women boil water and then worked with several more to create a gurney to bring the woman home to a clean bed. When she returned to Mark, a babe's cry filled the air. "Are they alright?" She knelt as he put the poultice deep in the woman and Grandfather cleaned the babe.

"Yes." Mark gasped out the word. His hands shook and a bead of sweat ran down his brow.

Her eyes flew to his leg, where he had to kneel on the end of his poor leg to properly reach for surgery. "I'll close her, Mark." She glanced at Grandfather, who looked at Mark in concern too.

After the men loaded the woman and babe, she and Grandfather pulled Mark to his feet. A soft cry of pain escaped when he put weight on his leg.

Dropping to her knees, she eased off the prosthesis that was too tight from the swelling. "He's bleeding." Her voice shook at the sight of the blood soaked bandage. Palpating the end of his leg, she swallowed hard. Muscle atrophy had already changed the shape of his leg in the three weeks since fitting the prosthesis. Infection from an ulcered amputation was the primary way young amputees died.

"It's alright," Grandfather promised. "Let's get him to bed. We'll put on a poultice," he said, as if reading her mind.

Bear stepped forward out of nowhere and helped Grandfather get Mark back.

At Mark's hut, Grandmama caught her arm. "You're not wed. You can't go in there."

She shook off her hand. "I _am_ wed to him. He's my husband and hurt."

"Tanya, the Elders can order him to leave the tribe if he compromises you. Men who do not respect women are not welcomed - "

"He's hurt!"

Grandfather stepped out. "Go. I will see to him. The padding in the prosthesis slipped, and the hardware cut into his leg. I'll pack the wound and see how he fares by tomorrow." Then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Come when the moonlight is overhead."

Soft gasps of pain escaped Mark's hut over the next several minutes. "I'm right here," she sniffled and sank to her knees on the other side of his deerskin hut.

"I'm alright," he panted through the wall, "don't cry."

"The bleeding won't slow. I have to pack this deep. It's going to hurt." Grandfather sounded sick to his stomach. "Tanya's right there."

A god-awful scream and then silence.

"He fainted."

She burst into sobs.

* * *

The mother recovered well the next two days, as Mark battled a fever from infection. All day she sat outside his hut. In the middle of the night, Grandfather would sneak her inside for a few hours. Mark had no strength beyond holding her hand and accepting sips of water that she pushed upon him.

Grandfather stepped out of the hut on the third day, looking as bleary as she felt. "His fever seems to have broken. He's so weak that he cannot leave bed for several more days."

She gave a slow nod. Now that Mark was improving, Grandfather wouldn't permit risking midnight visits.

Mr. Price had said to not bother returning if they didn't come back after one week. The train departed yesterday. "Is he asleep?" When Grandfather nodded, she met his eyes. "I need to send a letter telling Brigands and Teresa to pack up and come. We'll be fired for not returning on time."

Grandfather set a hand on her shoulder. "We will help you make a life here."

Her eyes strayed to the hut. "Except Mark loved practicing medicine there. He was so afraid for me to stay here. I didn't mean to trap us out here." She burst into tears.

"You are overtired. It was an accident that he got hurt. If you and the babe are safe, he'll figure out how to make a home wherever you are."

Bear helped carve a smooth finish on the thick wood sticks a few days later. "Why we make sticks?"

She brushed the sweat from her brow under the hot summer sun. "Mark will need crutches."

"Oh." He didn't sound pleased.

"Stand. You're about his height."

When Bear did, a sour expression touched his face as she measured the stick. "Why love White Man? Not skill besides medicine. No protect you, no fast enough hunt food."

Her back snapped ramrod straight, and cold eyes met his gaze. He kept quiet after that.

The women helped figure out how to make padding on the crutches for under Mark's arms.

Days later, Mark stepped out of the hut on crutches, his complexion so pale.

"Dizziness?"

He turned his face up to the sun. "It feels good to be outside."

Breaking the rules, she picked up Charles from where he crawled with a wood toy in the grass, and walked over to Mark. "How do you feel?"

His head whipped to her and a smile brightened his features. "Better. You look tired."

"I've been worried about you." And the nightmares had returned not being near his protection at night.

He stroked Charles's hair, and the babe smiled and cooed.

"Come sit in the sun for a bit. Tanya, I'm sure your grandmother needs help with chores." Grandfather gave a pointed look as he took Mark's arm and forced him around to a stone that would serve as a perfect chair to prop up Mark's leg.

As Grandfather settled him, Mark kept his eyes on her in longing. Then Grandfather retrieved Charles. "He misses you. The babe will be good to lift his spirits."

Wandering back to her hut, she stopped where Grandmama laid out laundry to dry.

"Do you want to finish the laundry while I go gather some berries for dinner?"

With a grateful smile, she took over and kept one eye on Mark playing with Charles. "He looks so pale."

"It is what you English call hospital pallor. He'll regain his strength."

After a bit, Charles laid against Mark's good leg and went to sleep. Grandfather said something and set some materials down beside him. Mark picked them up and began working on something for hours, as if determined to finish today.

Grandmama set a blanket around her shoulders. Blinking, she looked away from Mark. The sun had begun to set and a chill filled the air, like that before a storm.

"You've been staring at him all day." Grandmama sat on the log beside her.

She stood and stretched. "I didn't realize. I'm so stiff. I'll help you make dinner."

Grandmother pointed to a plate on the log. "I gave it to you an hour ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"You miss him, don't you?"

When she nodded without looking away from Mark, the worried tone caught her attention in Grandmama's next question.

"What is it that you dream about at night? I hear your muffled screams right before you wake up and cry."

Bowing her head, she swallowed hard. "The nightmares went away when I was with Mark."

A weathered, elegant hand rested on her arm. "No one will hurt you here. Soon you'll be with Mark again. He spoke to Grandfather, who spoke with the other Elders to plead his case. One more offering, and you may accept his courtship. The Elders agreed to a very short courtship and engagement." Silence. "You must eat, Tanya. You've lost weight and do not look well. He looked miserable before he got hurt. You two need each other."

"Then I don't understand why they're trying to keep us apart," she whispered with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"The Elders are not entirely convinced that a white man is an acceptable match. They wanted time to get to know him themselves."

"No other men speak to me, but Bear comes every day with some type of item to make chores easier. Is that...is that him trying to work his way to a courtship?" The question had seemed obsurd until now.

Grandmama nodded. "He's highly respected by the Elders and expressed interest when he heard of you coming. The Elders gave him permission, and your grandfather pushed for Mark to have equal chance."

"So, when Bear comes tomorrow, I simply reject his gift? I can tell he doesn't like when I speak of Mark, but he's offered words of comfort when Mark was so ill. He's a friend, but I love Mark."

"A gentle rejection. I know Bear seems a bit...dense in his broken English. He's very intelligent, as well as has a large heart. Be soft because I think he's been reading into things in our way, not understanding that you see him as a friend. The rest of us realized it, but I think he's so smitten he didn't see."

Mark was outside again the next day, hard at work making some kind of web on a circle of sticks when Bear came. Mark stilled and his eyes followed Bear walk over with two coffees and a beautiful clay pot.

Bear beamed and sat on the log beside her as she finished giving Charles small pieces of eggs. "His first food?"

She nodded. "He's eating too much for me alone to sustain him anymore."

"He small age?"

"There were complications when I was with child, so he is still trying to catch up in size."

"He grow big and strong. Mush," he said when Charles spit out more scrambled eggs. He smashed the eggs over and over until they were like a pulp. "Your milk he like." When her eyebrows rose, he laughed and handed her the plate before nodding to go in the hut. "Our women feed, no hide. You can go."

Tribal women seemed to openly breastfeed and the men seemed to think nothing of it. "I'm not taking off my dress in front of anyone." Stepping into the hut, she expressed some milk and mixed the eggs in before coming out.

Charles mashed the eggs with his two teeth and opened his mouth like a bird for more.

"He used to your taste." Bear smiled and gave Charles another spoonful.

She laughed and glanced up.

Mark watched with a solemn expression.

The smile melted. He was not only missing Charles's first meal, but watching another man fill his place. "Bear? Why am I allowed to talk to you, but not Mark?"

The happiness left his eyes. "We courting."

"What?"

His expression stoned over. "You not know." He looked away.

"Bear, if I've somehow led you to think I no longer love Mark, I apologize."

An embarrassed smile touched his lips, and he wouldn't make eye contact. "Thought you know take gifts mean courting."

"I thought the Elders only give one man permission to court. And that man was Mark. I enjoy your company as a friend, but I've always loved Mark."

With a nod, he picked up his pot.

"Bear?"

Clearing his throat, he turned to her but kept his eyes down. "Not give woman gifts before. I should have told rules. Thank you for English teaching." Then he hurried away.

Mark watched Bear hurry past and then looked at her in confusion.

Picking up Charles, she walked over. "Did you realize that he'd been courting me?"

A slow nod. "I suspected your grandparents had pressed you to give him a chance." He glanced after Bear, who abandoned the pot next to an old woman and kept walking. "I'd wager you just told him that you didn't realize it and let him go." His blue eyes returned to her.

She nodded. "I said I wanted to be friends, but I don't think he's interested."

His lips pressed together in a sad line. "To believe to be winning you and then lose you...it would break any man's heart enough that friendship would just be painful."

With a sigh, she sank to the grass beside him. "I don't understand their ways. I didn't mean to hurt him."

"His heart will recover in time."

Looking at the web he'd made on the circle of sticks, she cocked her head. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Your grandfather says you sent word to Brigands. I'm sorry. Will you be happy here? We can move to the outskirts of town in a log house. I'm trying to figure out how I can build it myself being we won't have means or lumberyard men to help."

"I think perhaps it'll be good for us to be here where we don't have to worry about money and things for awhile. Will you be happy?"

"I'll be happy once I can be with you. I miss you."

"Get home!" Grandmama came stomping over. "You'll ruin everything if the Elders see you breaking the rules!"

With a sigh that seemed to be the only thing she did anymore, she gathered Charles and returned to her hut.

* * *

The next morning, she almost tripped over the large thing Mark had been making the past two days. From the bottom, beautiful feather danced from strings.

"He finished." Grandmama's voice came from closer behind.

"What is it?"

"A dream catcher. It catches bad spirits before they can enter your head and cause nightmares. I told Mark that you've been having nightmares. Your grandfather must've told him about dream catchers. Now, you must give Mark a gift."

"Don't tell me that I have to make things for him for a week now," she groaned.

Grandmama smiled. "You must give him a gift of acceptance."

She wandered the woods while Grandmama watched Charles. A rose? Herbs for his medicine bag? What did one give a man to accept his courtship when she was no more gifted in pottery or hunting than him?

A loud crunch of a thick branch snapping. Spinning around, she froze.

A moose snorted and stomped its foot. Bear mentioned once that moose were as dangerous as bears, but they trampled instead of gutted victims. They could easily fall these thin trees. The best escape may be to run, but to where? It could surely outrun her.

"Yah!" A deep voice boomed and hooves thundered from behind. A man rode bareback on a horse straight toward the moose. Five more of the tribe followed, shooting arrows of fire near the animal and making war calls.

Mark put himself between her as the moose made a strange sound of fear and anger. "Take my hand and hold tight because I can't balance well bareback!"

Grabbing his hand, she jumped as his horse spooked forward when the moose charged. Mark's strength was enough to pull her up, although he struggled to balance with only half a thigh to grip one side of the horse. Riding bareback wasn't foreign, being a poor child, so she wrapped her arms around his middle and grabbed the horse's mane before getting a firm grip with her own thighs to balance.

The moose gained speed. The men reloaded their arrows and charged after them.

"Give him his head!" She grabbed Mark's hands and jerked them lower, unintentionally pulling some of the horse's hair out. The moment the horse had free head movement, he shot forward.

"Can you jump bareback?" he yelled over the pounding of hooves into the earth. He looked over his shoulder and urged the poor horse faster.

"Yes, you?"

"We're going to find out!" He aimed right for a small cliff.

"That's too far with two of us on a horse!" She looked behind. The moose lowered its head to attack, and the men's arrows were falling short of hitting the animal.

"Get in my lap!"

With no time to argue, she climbed in front and wrapped her arms around him. The next instant was a free fall. Mark's arms tightened around her and the air knocked out as the ground hit and Mark rolled, using his body to cushion her. When the rolling stopped, she panted in his arms for a moment as the trembling subsided.

"Are you alright?" His voice came out tight, and he let go.

"Yes. You?" She pushed herself up and patted him down as he sat up.

"Just bumps." He looked over at the horse running in the field in distress. "Be careful catching him."

The men cheered from the other side. Peeking over the edge, she smiled in relief to see the moose swimming in the pond below. She caught the horse and walked him in circles to calm the poor thing.

"How is he?"

"It just looks like his knees are a little scraped, but his gait is sound." She led the horse over to Mark.

Pushing himself up, he held the horse's mane for balance. "Alright, you're not strong enough to toss me up, and I can't mount bareback on my own. Get on one knee. If I place my foot close enough to your knee, the weight will go straight through your foot into the ground rather than break your leg."

"Oh, this sounds fun."

"Trust me." He said it so matter of fact like they discussed the weather.

"Do you know how we get back from here?"

"Of course. We go hunting on these plaines. Buffalo tend to wander here in the early morning - be careful where you kneel."

"See you home!" one of the men yelled.

Mark waved and then set a hand on her shoulder. "Keep your head back so I don't knee your chin. Hold your back firm. When I jump onto your knee, I'm going to pound your knee straight down. The ground is soft enough that it'll take the pressure for you. As I kick off, let it knock you to the side so your head is out of the way as I swing up my leg."

"This sounds like ten ways to beat me up in five seconds." She gave a nervous laugh.

"Do you trust me?" He looked down at her.

"I trust that you don't think you will hurt me."

"I tried this before and only gave a black eye."

"What?!" she screeched.

He chuckled. "No, I've never done it before, but I promise you won't get hurt if you do it as I say."

"Oh god, just do it." Closing her eyes, she plopped onto the side of her hip a moment later. Looking up, she blinked to see him on top of the horse.

"See? I didn't kill you." He smiled and held down a hand.

Rolling her eyes, she stood and let him tug her up behind him.

Riding in companionable silence for a few minutes, she rested her cheek against his bare back. "I miss this. I miss lying in bed with you and climbing into your lap for a kiss and...just everything."

"I miss this too." His hand touched her arm around his waist. "Why were you in the woods alone?"

"I was trying to figure out what to give you for your courtship gift."

"Mine?"

"Yes, Grandmama said I have to give you something in acceptance. I was thinking some of those medicinal herbs for your medicine bag."

He sighed. "That certainly was not worth risking your life."

"I didn't think it was dangerous to be at the edge of the woods." Best to change topic before he scolded. "Thank you for the dream catcher."

"Your grandmother said you've been having nightmares again." Worry etched his tone.

"They're so vivid," she whispered and held him tighter.

Just then, the clouds opened and cool summer rain fell.

"Perfect." A chance to get some time alone to woo her, and rain decided to turn them into drowned rats. That fairy-like laugh filled the air. Looking over his shoulder, a smile tugged upon witnessing all the strain from the past months flee her face.

The little minx climbed around to straddle his lap and draped her arms around his neck. "I've always wanted to kiss you in the rain."

Dear god, she looked so beautiful, even with her hair plastered around her face and dress soaked to the bone. "Tanya, I want nothing more than to make love to you," he breathed and stopped the horse. Capturing her delicate face in his hands, he pressed his lips to hers and let the flames consume. God bless this hideous stump, for once, as it was the only thing keeping him a gentleman right now.

An hour ride back to the tribe went too fast, despite the five pauses to steal delicious kisses. Before approaching the tribe, he convinced her to sit behind him again for propriety. Losing the feel of her body pressed to his was like losing a little piece of his heart - it caused an ache in his chest.

Stopping at her hut, he offered an arm as she slid off. When she looked up with that smile, it may as well have been his sun. Starting the horse forward before gossip took hold, he held her hand until the last moment and watched her as the horse led itself to his hut. She ducked inside her hut, causing a deeper pang of loss.

He slid off the horse and held on as he reached inside the teepee and pulled out his crutches. Setting the horse free to roam with the others, he walked around to bring in his soaking wet laundry. The damn crutches suctioned into the mud, as did his foot, making it difficult to walk. When he turned with the laundry slung over a shoulder, he stopped short.

Tanya stood there with so much love and hope in her eyes. A shiver ran down her body.

"Why are you still out here? You should go dry off before you catch your death." He set a hand on her arm to turn her around, but she resisted.

Taking his hand, she tied a thin, brown braided rope around his wrist. "Grandmama says when a woman accepts a proposal, she gives the man a lock of hair to weave into his braid. You don't have hair long enough..." Those brown eyes looked up when she finished tying it.

His heartstrings pulled. "But I haven't even proposed."

"I know. This is my 'yes' when you do," she said softly. "I would think it counts as my 'yes' for courting too."

Capturing her face in his hands, he kissed her with abandon, not caring who saw because she was his now, his to love for all to see.


	48. Chapter 48

**Author's Note: 150 reviews! :D Thanks, Morganstern15, Old Soul in Wonderland, Earthsong1, Anna, Pinkdynamite, and ScarlettMeadow123102!**

 **I've been doing heavy research on how to get a blog going for extra income (and hopefully become my 'real' job)...had no idea how complicated and expensive it is to do it legally! I had this chapter written Monday, but then a computer crash happened.**

* * *

Grandmama stepped in with a smile early the next morning while Charles nursed. "Someone is here to see you."

Mark. Her heart skipped a beat. Last night felt like forever ago. The first day of courting, and it would surely be perfect. "I'll be right there." When Grandmama stepped out, she smiled at the babe. "Hurry. Papa has come to visit us." Minutes later felt like hours. Rushing out with Charles, she stopped short.

Bear stood there with a long, beautiful feather in offering.

The joyful elation plummeted.

He spoke in his tongue, the language fluid and intelligible as he kept it slow for her to keep up in translation. His hours of engaging teaching had made it easy to pick up most of what people said. "I shall never speak of it again, should you deny this offering of courtship, Sunshine. The Elders decided that within three moons, I shall sit among them. In your tongue, I struggle to speak, and realize I've offended you at times. Although I do not always understand what you are saying, I see your Spirit. It is kind and wiser than your years. You have the Spirit that Elders seek in a wife, and you have a heart that I will love more each day. You are not obedient and silent like other women; you're like a wild horse where the courage and strength make you more beautiful and wiser."

"Bear," she begged, "please, don't do this." To devastate him again would hurt so much.

But he held up a hand. "I know you will not choose me, but I have to know I tried. You offer friendship in marriage, I know. I would rather have a piece of you than none at all. Never will I disrespect your boundaries, just as the day respects the night. You share a world with your white man in a way I never can with you, yet I share a world with you in a way he never can. You and I, we come from the earth. Close your eyes."

"Bear."

"For a moment," he pleaded.

So she did.

"Feel the rays of the sun on your face, the Spirit of the eagle glide through your hair with the wind. The grass and earth breath underfoot. Hear the birds sing and smell the baby in your arms. You come from this earth, Sunshine." He set her hand over his warm, hard chest where it moved in gentle undulations of his heartbeat. It beat fast, seeming to know it was about to shatter from heartbreak within the next moments. "This runs through our blood. No matter where you are or what is wrong, you can return to the earth for strength."

She opened her eyes.

"You will never find happiness with me if you love another." Grief dulled his eyes, as if he saw his words couldn't change her mind. But dignity and grace remained in his quiet strength. "An Elder may give a feather of his headdress to two people whom he believes to be worthy successors." He held out the long feather.

Something in her chest wrenched hard, and tears burned at this sacred gift he offered. "Bear, I'm honored, but I didn't grow up in this world and will never fit in it. There are things you don't know about me...I'm not worthy of this feather. Even if I didn't love Mark, I'm not worthy of even being courted by an Elder."

"You will do many great things, if only you let the Spirits guide you to believe in yourself. I've heard of your upbringing from your grandfather, of where your babe is from. What the white man sees as flaws, I see a woman with more courage than the bear, more wisdom than the eagle and more honor than any Elder I've known. There are those who will never fit in, because they were meant to stand out, Sunshine." Heartbreak shimmered in his eyes as he wrapped her hand around the quill of the feather. "This is yours. I've asked the Spirits to lead you happiness, wherever it may be."

He walked back down the path, his back not straight and tall for once.

Tears blurred him.

Grandmama came out of the hut. "Oh my," she whispered and looked after Bear. "That is a great honor to be given a feather, much less at such a young age. And never has it been given to a woman." Grandmama set a hand on her arm. "He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?" She brushed at her eyes.

"The Elders choose the wives for fellow Elders. It's considered a woman's highest honor to be chosen as an Elder's wife. Should he not follow through, he must go before the Elders and see if he is to be rejected by them for twelve moons."

"They punish him because I refuse to marry him?" Her voice broke. Bear did not deserve that.

Sad eyes turned to her. "Given the circumstances of you arriving wed to Mark, they likely won't do anything more than push back his initiation a couple months. To not shame him, you must acknowledge his upcoming status now, until the Elders determine if he's to be punished."

"What do you mean?"

"He asked that none of us do it while he attempted to court you, because he feared you'd be self-conscious with him. When Elders approach, we must kneel, with our legs tucked underneath in respect, and you are to address him by his full name of Fighting Bear."

"We can't be friends, can we?"

"A non-relative woman with an Elder? No, granddaughter, I'm afraid not." Grandmama took her free hand and held her eyes. "As the wife of an Elder, I'm obligated to tell you that Fighting Bear would provide well for you and Charles." She paused and stroked her cheek. Tears of grief glistened in her eyes. "I lost my only child and my only grandchild for thirty years to a white man. I'm terrified that it'll happen again, but each man deserves a chance to not be defined by the mistakes of his race. Mark has promised us that he'd never keep you away." A tear slipped down Grandmama's face - the first time ever witnessing Grandmama show true fear. "As your grandmother, I want to see you happy. I want you to follow your heart."

"I've always loved Mark, Grandmama," she sniffled. "But I don't want to punish Bear or lose him as a friend. Take Charles for a moment." She hurried down the path after Bear. He'd sacrificed so much, without a word about it to her.

"Wait!" She ran down the trail to the sweathouse. "Bear!" When he turned, the rules flashed to mind. Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head and switched to his tongue. "I mean, Fighting Bear - "

A strong hand wrapped around hers and pulled. "Up. Bear. I am simply Bear to you," he said in his tongue in a thick voice, "and you do not kneel to me."

"I do." Tears burned at the sound of him holding back heartache. "I gave up that right when I ended our courtship."

Tenderness filled his brown eyes as he swept away her tear with his finger. "I want you to follow your heart."

That only brought forth more tears. "I don't want you to be punished. I'll go to the Elders and tell them that it's my fault - "

His strong neck convulsed in a hard swallow, and he forced a sad smile. "This is why I didn't want you to know, Sunshine. You love him?"

She nodded.

"Then go to him. All I wish is to see you happy." A single tear fell from his eyelash, but it held the pain of a thousand.

She choked on a sob. "I'm sorry."

His drew in a shaky breath and gave a gentle squeeze to her hand, as if he soaked it up as the first and last touch. "Do not be sorry. I do not regret a moment," he whispered.

"You're a good man, Bear. I wish you happiness."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Go on now."

Letting go, she stepped back. "Promise that when you do marry, it's for love and not just who the Elders say."

He gave a single nod, but his eyes said that chance had already passed. Turning, he continued down the path to the sweathouse, where men often went when in need of solace and reflection. Or when grieving.

Heading back, the guilt weighed heavy and the emptiness of losing him as a friend even more so.

Mark sat outside her hut speaking with Grandmama. His solemn expression said he already knew part of what had transpired.

Running into his arms, the tears fell. "Mark, I hurt him. Now he's punished and - "

"Shhh." He held tight. "Are you happy with me?"

She nodded.

"He will be alright and find the one meant for him. It's not your fault." Soothing strokes over her hair helped slow the tears.

"I don't know why I'm crying."

"Because he is one of the first who didn't see anything but who you are. I saw how you were happy with him, even when you didn't want it so. He's a good man. You're sad because you've lost a dear friend," he said softly.

* * *

Mark was left behind that afternoon while the men went to the sweathouse for a weekly spiritual cleansing while the women washed laundry in the river. She glanced back at the tribe to see Mark sit down and sharpen his arrows.

"His skin is white, but darkening. He's handsome. Wind Dancer is going to ask her brother to introduce them," a woman said in the native tongue.

Her eyes tore to the two women younger than her. They both giggled and glanced over at Mark, who was hard at work. His skin had tanned slightly since arriving - enough that he didn't stick out like a sore thumb anymore. As a foreign, mysterious but kind newcomer, he seemed to be a source of attention for the women.

"I'm done, Grandmama," she said in their tongue and finished washing Charles's last nappie. Grandmama replied something, but All focus was on retrieving Charles to hear.

Carrying the heavy basket of wet clothes, she lugged it to where a couple of the women watched all the children during laundry hour. He crawled in the grass while children fussed over him.

"Aww, does he have to go?" one of the girls asked in native tongue.

She smiled and nodded, scooping him up in one arm and trying to lift the basket with the other. Charles raised a cricket to his mouth. "No! Don't eat it!"

One of the girls came forward and got it out of Charles's little fist. "He likes them."

"I know," she groaned in the foreign tongue. Mark had given a buffalo skin blanket this morning to let Charles crawl on, hopefully keeping him from eating so many bugs and grass. There were missed perks to raising children in England - namely indoors away from bugs.

The children's eyes focused on something behind, and their Gazes rose up and up as shy smiles blossomed.

In the next instant, the basket weighed nothing and slipped away. Whirling around, she blinked. Mark had the basket on some type of sled and held the lead rope in his hand while he balanced on crutches. If his endearing chivalry didn't send her heart into fast enough palpitations, his warm smile did. "Thank you." She reached for the rope.

"You carry the babe." He slipped her arm through his and turned on the crutches.

Whispers and giggles came from behind as he led her away.

"It seems we're a source of gossip," he growled.

"The other men don't help carry the laundry. You're putting the other men in the doghouse, you know." A shy smile tugged. His arms had grown stronger since losing his leg, and the lack of shirt to cover flexing back muscles didn't help with the desire beginning to pool. Or the women's stares. She stepped closer.

"Jealous?" A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, and he nodded toward the women staring.

"Wouldn't you like to think so," she retorted in a haughty tone.

His grin grew. "I suppose you have no interest in the fact that such a physical lifestyle here means more muscling?"

Dropping her hand from his thick arm that had grown harder in the past week already, she turned up her nose. "I have no time for a man who needs an ego stroked."

A hearty laugh erupted, and his eyes danced. "I love when you take me to task." Then he spun inn front of her and crushed her mouth in a scandalous kiss. The wretch didn't look the least remorseful, with a grin ear to ear, when he pulled back. "I should take you home and punish you for your saucy tongue."

Her eyes widened. "Everyone would hear."

That mischievous glint filled his eye. "Then I'd suggest you be quiet."

One of the Elder's wives walked past.

"This isn't decent conversation at all," she scolded, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Neither is anything I'm thinking."

Her blush only broadened his smile, but he took mercy and changed the topic. "I notice my laundry is missing." He cocked an eyebrow in a scolding glance.

The flush deepened. "I was doing laundry anyway. There's no harm in me doing yours when it's easier for me to be in the river."

"I appreciate that, but it's not proper being we're only courting." He stopped and set the basket in front of her hut, slapping some wet laundry over his shoulder and then hobbling to her clothesline.

Setting Charles on the buffalo skin, she gave him toys and then helped Mark hang clothes. "We're wed, not courting. This whole thing is stupid." She snapped a nappie over the line in a temper.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"It's not funny!" She flung a dress over the line while he straightened out the wrinkled clothes left in her wake. "You may be having a merry time living the bachelor life, but I hate this!" Another nappie slapped over the line.

He continued calmly removing the wrinkles, his unusually cool temper only causing more irritation.

"We're married! I should be allowed to do something about being this horny seeing you half naked all the time!"

A surprised snort of laughter escaped through his nose, and he glanced around.

"I don't care who heard me. Only a few speak English anyways!" She whipped another nappie onto the line.

Strong arms wrapped around from behind, and his hot breath fluttered the strands of hair near her ear. "Calm down, my fire breathing dragon. Would I have known your vehemous opposition to this arrangement, I wouldn't have agreed to it." A slight chuckle lightened his tone.

She frowned and turned in his arms, resting her hands on his bare chest. "What did you agree to?"

His hands rested on her hips as those blue eyes held hers. "Your grandfather explained how spiritual the tribe is and how strongly opposed they are to white men since the war a few months ago. You were raised in another world, a world they've only see birth evil, and you are half white. The tribe was willing to accept us because you're an Elder's grandchild and because he convinced them that I've protected you and am not like the white men they've known. There was still hesitation and some resistance from the tribe.

"Your grandfather happened to mention when we arrived the wedding rituals that the tribe holds so dear. I brought it up to him that we have an expedited courtship where the tribe blesses the union. It also requires the suitor to have extensive conversations with the Elders and prove himself worthy. I want you to be accepted not as the half-white grandchild of an Elder, but a woman recognized for her courage and strength and skills, a woman who has kindness and wisdom of her mother and Elder grandfather."

Her eyes widened. "You botched the courtship on purpose."

At least he had the decency to blush at being caught. "It gave time for the tribe to get to know who you are without me as a distraction. They've had a chance to witness your strength as a mother and an individual. This world is different, Tanya. A woman's status in the tribe isn't completely determined by her husband or father. The bit of a shadow you did have to stand in was an Elder's. Your father's reputation cast a cloud over you in England, as did mine. Your grandfather is kind and good and a respected Elder, and he was able to cast you in a favorable light in ways your father and I never could. I want to see my wife and son accepted and given the life they deserve."

Tears welled for what he'd done for her and Charles. 'Why didn't you tell me? I've never resented you or wished you'd been able to give more. You are every bit as good of a man as any of these Elders."

A sad smile touched his lips, as if he didn't agree. "I knew you'd object if I told you, so your grandparents presented it to you as something the tribe demands of us. I don't want you blaming them, though."

She flung her arms around him. "I love you."

"I love you too, my lady love," he whispered and held tight.

* * *

The next morning, she grabbed Grandmama's pot and hurried to make breakfast for everyone. Grandfather said bridegrooms had to go to the sweathouse for a week for cleansing before marriage. If Mark popped the question soon, every second with him before then was too precious to waste.

"Granddaughter, take the babe off your back while you're trying to carry that cauldron," Grandfather scolded and took the large pot from her. "That all weighs more than you."

"It's my turn to make porridge for the tribe for breakfast."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Porridge? English eat porridge." He set the pot back in the corner of the hut and pointed to a large skillet. "Eggs. Go gather a few dozen and make eggs."

"Alright, I'll give Charles to Mark to watch - "

"Men don't watch the children."

She frowned. "But Mark has always played with him for a couple hours each day."

"Because he's lonely, his leg hurt and he was ill." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh." She turned to Grandmama. "Can you watch Charles?"

Grandmama had her hands full with pottery clay to go outside. "I have to make some more dishes with some of the women. Have Rain watch him. It's her day to care for the children." Then Grandmother slipped out.

"The last time Rain watched him, he ate worms! Grandfather, you're making this impossible! I can't bend over gathering eggs with him on me, and I can't set him down without risk of the chickens pecking him."

With an uncharacteristically unsympathetic look, he ducked out.

Taking a deep breath to calm the panic of having to cook for the entire tribe when still getting used to cooking over a campfire, she strapped Charles onto her back and grabbed a basket to go to the other side of the tribe where the chickens wandered.

Kneeling down, she set another egg in the basket. The chickens running around in a frenzy over the disturbance didn't help with getting up and down with the basket in her arms and Charles on her back.

Standing, she walked over to where another chicken had a nest. One of the dogs, who helped keep away foxes and coyotes from the chickens, ran over to help. "No!"

But he jumped up and sent the basket of eggs flying. He ran over and lapped up the treats smashed all over the ground and basket

Sinking to her knees as the despair mounted, she used her skirt to carry two eggs and start all over. Tears burned. Most of the tribe was up already and would expect breakfast so the men could go hunting. Grandfather and Mark were rumored to head out this morning to find more medicinal flowers too before the summer sun got too hot today. Her first meal for the tribe, and it wasn't going to be ready in time and likely be burned to a crisp.

A large hand reached down.

With a sniffle, she looked up. Mark. "I can't even make breakfast right."

"It's putting eggs over the fire. There's not much to mess up," he stated and pulled her up. "Go that way to get eggs, and I'll go this way." He set both crutches in one hand and managed to balance leaning over as he snatched an egg away from a chicken. Then he put it in a pouch tied around his waist.

"Men aren't supposed to help cook or watch babies," she sniffled and just stood there, too discouraged to try anymore. "You never wear a pouch."

"Screw what men should do, the point is to get done what needs to be done. Go on, gather eggs, woman." He swooped down and scooped another egg. "I heard that it's your morning for breakfast and saw Rain didn't have Charles, so I came to make sure you're doing alright trying to do it all by yourself."

She squatted down to balance Charles and picked up an egg. "I'm never going to fit in with them."

"They've been living this way all their lives. Perhaps, just perhaps, if you ask for help, they would be more than happy to teach you." He hobbled over and set five eggs in her basket. Then he stood there.

"What?"

He nodded. "Go ask the women for help. If they don't, then I will help you finish. You need to be less nervous about making friends."

"Says the lone wolf. The men left you behind when they went to the sweathouse."

"I spend all day hunting with the men, and it'll take me longer to fit in being a white outsider. They didn't leave me behind for the sweathouse - it's still too soon after illness to be able to tolerate being in there yet. Stop making excuses. Go, woman."

Swallowing her stomach, she padded over to where some of the woman worked on getting their children ready for the day. They stopped and looked at her, so she continued on past. Women doing other chores throughout the tribe stopped and watched her go by, none offering a smile. Some even looked away. Mark didn't understand that she didn't belong here any better than in England - too Injun for some and too white for the rest.

Making a full circle throughout the tribe, she returned to where he had several more eggs in hand.

"Thank you. You can go back to your chores." She pasted on a smile.

"Are some women coming to help? You need to gather dozens of more eggs to feed so many." Concern filled his eyes.

"I know, it's covered. Go on." She urged him along.

Once he was far enough away, he looked back. Tanya knelt, trying to balance the babe and basket and shoo away the dog all by herself. Heaving a sigh, he continued toward the tribe. These were hesitant but caring people. This delay in courtship was supposed to have been an opportunity for her to meet some women and fit in. Instead, it seemed to have driven her farther away. She was so used to being an outcast that she didn't know how to make friends, to help others see past her skin color.

He walked over to some women cleaning pots. They looked a bit startled by a man breaking tradition and approaching non-relative females. In a broken tongue, he said, "Sunshine get eggs. Breakfast. Babe and dog." He gestured. "No help. Worried say 'no.'" He gave a pleading look.

The three women mumbled something together and then looked at him. It sounded like they said, "She...not like us."

With a shake of his head, he set a hand over his heart. "Thinks none like her." He pointed to his skin.

Their eyes softened, and they went over to some other women sewing clothes. Those women got up and all eight left.

Following behind, he peek around a hut. One woman knelt beside Tanya and wiped her face, as if Tanya was crying. Then one of them held Charles, two others chased the dogs away and the rest helped Tanya gather eggs.

He returned to his hut to sharpen more arrows for hunting, the knot in his stomach for Tanya gone.

* * *

"He can't shoot while on a moving horse," Brave Wolf, one of the men near his own age who had taken Mark under his wing, told Tanya's grandfather on the planes that morning. Thankfully, he spoke English as well as Tiger.

"Men will believe everything is impossible until they prove it's possible," Tiger snapped. "Do not question an Elder. Try."

Gritting his teeth, Mark glanced at Brave Wolf and sent the horse into a canter. Half of a thigh to hold on while bareback was incredibly difficult. Now, Tiger demanded letting go to shoot too.

Letting go of the mane with one hand, he lifted the bow. And started to slide.

"Do it!" Tiger yelled.

Readjusting, he shot the damn arrow. And landed hard on his side, trying to roll to absorb some of the impact. The goddamn ground collapsed the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping like a humiliated ass.

Brave Wolf arrived moments before Tiger and jumped off to help him sit up. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he wheezed and held his sore ribs.

"He cannot do it without a harness or something!" Brave Wolf shot to his feet, ever the young man to fight for justice.

Pushing himself up, pride refused to let Tiger see him need anyone's help. "Brave Wolf," he said quietly to silence the man. He whistled for the horse to return before he tipped over trying to balance on one foot.

Tiger remained on his horse and looked down. "Go catch up with our brothers to hunt." When Brave Wolf looked to argue, Tiger gave a leveling glare. "Now."

Heaving a sigh of anger, Brave Wolf jumped on his horse and galloped away.

The horse arrived, and he grabbed a handful of the mane to stay upright.

"The Elders - "

"I know. The Elders decided it's time for Tanya and I to prove our worth in the tribe." He turned to the horse. How to get on alone? Brave Wolf had been a dear friend in helping get acquainted with the customs, but he'd also been willing to serve as a crutch for the missing leg. Tiger decided today was the time to figure out how to do everything without any aid, proving he could shoulder everything the other men could.

Pushing off the ground as hard as possible, he flung up his good leg to try to hook over the horse's back. It took several falls before finally getting grip enough to drag himself up. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he grit his teeth and glared at Tiger. "Humiliate as you wish in the fields, but it will not be done in front of Tanya."

A gleam of pride reflected in Tiger's eyes. "Nothing is intended to humiliate. You could've asked for a hand, stubborn ass Englishman."

At least that was a bit of a balm. "Goddamn in-law," he growled.

Tiger laughed and pulled up his horse alongside. "You don't need a harness or saddle. If we put a weight on your leg to balance, you'll be able to hunt with us."

He grunted, although it was a good idea that would draw less attention than a harness, like some child incapable of holding his own. "Tanya does not know I practice riding instead of hunting."

"All of our brothers understand how this physical life is difficult without a leg. We had an Elder who lost a leg in middle age, and he didn't do more than women's work after that. Our brothers respect you for trying to keep up. It is why Brave Wolf isn't afraid to challenge an Elder - he looks up to you."

"He's a wet-behind-the-ears pup yet at four and twenty. If he had brains, he wouldn't challenge an Elder." He kept his eyes forward, clutching the poor horse's mane tight to balance while trying to figure out the way to prevent the hideous stump from banging during a trot.

"It shows his devotion to you. Stop fighting the horse." Tiger set a hand on his shoulder to pull it back and moved the grip on the mane lower to sit up more easily. "Let your back flex more to roll with the movements, and your leg will bounce less. Tanya tells me you were an excellent horseman before the injury."

"She'd tell you I hung the moon, if you asked her," he grumbled. Being reminded of what had once been didn't help the sting of humiliation.

"What a blessing to have a woman who is pressed to find fault with her husband. After forty years of marriage, I've found honesty is a better companion than self-imposed humiliation. Go to town and get those horses now."

* * *

That evening, he sat at the fire where everyone gathered. The women sat with Tanya tonight, offering smiles and conversation. She positively beamed tonight and openly flashed smiles his way. Her happiness and confidence served as reminders of how long it'd been since she'd warmed his bed.

"Go." Tiger sat to the right.

"She's enjoying herself."

"She's flirting looking at you every ten seconds. Should you not steal her, one of the other brothers will."

"It's not every ten seconds - "

"Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." When she flashed a smile and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear again, Tiger nudged his shoulder. "She asked me yesterday if you'd hunted the buffalo skin that you'd given Charles."

His stomach clenched, and he focused on the dancing flames of the fire straight ahead instead of her. "What did you tell her?"

"That it's a question for you."

"And I should be eager to tell my wife I'm barely able to ride, much less hunt? She already knows I'm too weak to go to the sweathouse with the men."

"Recovering from illness is different than weakness. She looks at you no differently than in England. In fact, she seems to look at you more...let's say with a look that makes our brothers very aware that she's female."

He glared at Tiger.

The man shrugged. "Fine. You're a blind idiot."

"You're a nosey old man." He pushed himself to his foot and accepted the crutches Tiger handed. "Life was a lot less complicated before you came." Giving the customary nod before leaving an Elder, he patted Tiger's shoulder in gratitude for the encouragement.

She frowned when Mark seemed tense about his discussion with Grandfather. And then, without even looking her way, Mark got up and left.

"Do you like it?" One of the young mothers held up her babe to show the beautiful little smock she'd sewn and painted. Of course, the woman had done it all this evening.

With an inward groan at her own lack of skills, she smiled and stroked the garment as all the women fussed over it. After a moment, the women grew quiet and bashful.

Mark came from behind the group, silent and calm. His eyes locked on hers and didn't stray as he held out a hand.

Only half aware of the audience, women's hands helped her up and eased Charles out of her arms. The women helped her pick a path through everyone to reach Mark.

The moment he took her hand, the world was perfect again. He tucked her arm through his and led the way along a moonlit path through the flower fields just outside of the tribe. Only the crickets interrupted the companionable silence, and the fireflies cast romantic twinkling.

"Is your leg healing?" Her words broke the silence, easing his tension, getting him out of his own head.

"It is. Another couple weeks and then it should be able to hold up to the prosthesis."

"Do you miss it? Practicing medicine, I mean?"

"I don't miss patients dying. I miss working with you - watching your mind come up with inventions." He glanced at her as he picked his way over the uneven ground on the crutches. "Do you?"

"I miss the excitement of it, and working with you. But I like being with Charles all day."

Silence. It was a wonder she didn't sense his body shaking in nervousness. Perhaps wait to propose until the end of the night. But...

"Where are we going?"

..but proposing now would be better so she didn't have to spend the evening with a man clamed up tighter than a... "Do you wish to live in a cabin? It wouldn't be for some time because of how long it'll take to do myself with my leg," he snapped. Dammit, that came out too gruff.

"I would." She didn't seem fazed, bless her heart. "I don't mind this life for the next couple years or however long it takes to build it, but I don't know that I want to raise a family in a teepee. Honey, why don't we sit? You're clammy like you hurt."

"Because," he grunted. It wasn't from pain but goddamn nerves. "Did your grandfather tell you about the Elders expecting us to pull our own weight now?"

"He did, this afternoon when I asked why he was so cold about breakfast. I know, by the way, that you rallied the women to help get eggs." That wonderful fairy-like laugh escaped her. "You're not as sneaky as you think."

This shouldn't be nerve-wracking - of course she'd say 'yes,' but it was still damn terrifying. Stopping abruptly at her hut, he swallowed hard and waited.

She turned and blinked at the six horses tied there. "What are these?"

"They're - " He cleared his throat to steady the shakiness. Only Tanya had the power to make him this nervous. "They're a bride price. Horses are very prized in the tribe, and the more horses a man has, the more respected and wealthy he is. The more horses given in a bride price, the more precious she must be. No less than three horses may be given to the male relative of the woman sought. I didn't have any horses, so your grandfather said I could take furs to town to trade for horses today."

"Surely furs didn't buy six horses." She frowned and looked at him.

"I don't...I don't go hunting with the men every day. Brave Wolf and your grandfather help teach me how to ride bareback, and then I go to the stream nearby that has small pieces of gold. I sell them in town."

Setting a hand on his shoulder, she smiled. "I could tell when the moose attacked that you struggled to just stay on, so I knew you couldn't yet hunt on a horse. It's going to take time and practice and perhaps some modifications to be able to ride bareback without a leg. There's no reason to look ashamed. I'm proud of you for working to do everything that others can." A butterfly soft kiss pressed to his cheek.

Then she walked over to the horses and stroked their coats that had taken hours and hours of brushing to shine so. "This means we can be wed?" Her smile lit up the night, and the stars reflected in the tears in her eyes.

He nodded. "Are you going to wed me or not?" he huffed, just about ready to lose dinner.

Running to him, she pulled him down for a kiss. "A thousand times 'yes'!" Her squeal of happiness rang through the fields.

Deep, hearty laughter burst out.

Then she jerked back just as suddenly without letting go of his face. "But don't go in the sweathouse before you're able to tolerate it. And drink lots of water before you go each day. And - "

"I know." An ache formed in his cheeks from smiling like a fool. "Come."

The waterfall could be heard through the trees as the path wound closer minutes later.

"Mark, is this safe to be in the woods at night?"

"I set some poultice and such out that deters bears, moose and mountain lions - "

"Mountain lions?!" She shot closer, bumping his back.

"I wouldn't take you if it was dangerous. Close your eyes." Pressing his lips together in excitement, he pulled her forward to face the scenery. "Now."

Her soft gasp mingled with the splash of the waterfall cascading into a pool reflecting moonlight. Crickets sang and fireflies twinkled over the sandy embankment surrounded by flowers and trees.

"Mark, it's beautiful. How did you find this?"

"Brave Wolf told me about it. We can swim in it."

She whirled around, her eyes shining in the moonlight with happiness. "Your leg is healed enough?"

With a nod, he linked her arm through his and took her down the path. It would be romantic and a chance to be freed from crutches.

The moment her feet touched the sand, she laughed and knelt to run her fingers through the grains. "I've never felt a beach. Is this what the ground feels like in the water too?" Those beautiful eyes looked up.

"You've never swum?" With a frown, he let the crutches sink into the sand before taking another step toward the water.

"There was never any water near home." She took his arm and hesitated at the shoreline when he went in ankle deep. When he waited, she put a toe in. "It's still warm from the sun!"

"I wasn't going to take you swimming in an icebox. Come, you should know how to swim," he ordered and stuck out the crutch to feel the ground under the dark water.

She clung tightly to his arm. "Why do you stick out your crutch?"

"To make sure it doesn't drop off. Once we're waist deep, I'll toss the crutches on the beach."

The brave minx came out waist deep, but looked a bit nervous once the crutches were tossed to the beach. "Now, in the deep water, keep yourself afloat by treading your arms like this and your legs like this." Helping her move her arms and legs, he then launched backwards into the deep water and showed it in action.

The sweet thing crouched in the water to be chest deep and stuck her leg out.

"What are you doing?" he chuckled and swam closer.

"Making sure it doesn't drop off."

"I could touch out there yet."

"You're taller than I am." She waded out a bit more.

"Hold my hand, and I'll tell you when it's too deep." He moved ahead, letting the water help with hopping.

A whisper of a female gasp and his hand jerked. "Mark, a fawn." She pointed to the embankmaent where a doe and fawn grazed on a berry bush. She let go of his hand and slowly crept toward them, just a couple arm lengths away. Another step, and her cry cut off as she disappeared underwater.

"Tanya!" His heart shot into his throat. Diving into the pure blackness beneath, he aimed down as fast as possible in case she sank all the way in a sharp dropoff. Brave Wolf had said it was a shallow pool, but it seemed a thousand leagues deep. Something brushed his arm. Reaching out, it felt like hair. Angling down, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kicked off the pool floor to shoot to the surface. She kicked and clawed at the water to get to the surface, like she had no air left. Having one leg didn't help, so grabbing her hips, he flung her up as hard as possible.

When he broke the surface, she was gasping and coughing and starting to go under again. Catching her around the waist, he swam to the shallow water. Once it was too shallow to swim, he let go as she crawled to shore.

Every muscle shook as he dragged himself backwards up to the shoreline where a frantic, abnormally shallow cough wracked her while she leaned on her hands and knees trying to breathe yet. Jesus, she'd nearly died and now water was trapped in her lungs, still threatening to suffocate her. "Stand up!" Shoving onto his foot, he dragged her upright and doubled her over his arm. Two hard pounds on her back and she spit up a little water. When she gasped in air, a strong breath now, he pulled her into his arms. Her whole delicate body shook as she gulped air, and her heart pounded against his chest. "It's alright," he cooed and held tight. She probably trembled in shock and would need to get back to warm up. "I'm so sorry. You're alright now."

Once she quieted, he set an arm around her. "Let's get you home and warmed up."

"No."

His head snapped down to her in surprise. Her hair hung around her face and the dress plastered to her, those eyes so big like a drowned kitten.

"Teach me to swim. If we go now, I'll be too scared to come back." She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

"Tanya - "

"Please, Mark."

Heaving a sigh, he took her hand. "You know I can't deny you anything when you look at me like that. Turn so I can listen to your lungs. If there's any crackling like water is still trapped, we're going home." Turning her away, he pulled up her dress to bare her back. The nakedness that would've excited carried no weight now, replaced by the fear of her almost dying and now at risk for dry drowning or pneumonia. Pressing an ear to her lower back where water would've pooled in her lungs, he said, "Deep breaths. As deep as you can." Then he listened from the sides and front. It sounded clear.

"Mark, I'm fine." She pressed on his shoulder, her trembles subsiding.

"I'm checking with the stethoscope when we get back. We can't stay for long." Straightening, he felt her arms. The shivers had ceased. A hand to her cheek didn't reveal any calmness. His fingers pressed the side of her neck where her heart beat a little fast yet, but didn't show signs of distress. Catching her hand, it helped ease the panic to see her nailbed color have sufficient return when pressed - her circulation seemed fine.

"I'm alright." She pulled her hand free and smiled. "Thank you for rescuing me."

A disgusted snort. "Of course I rescued you! You're my wife!"

She laughed, the sound still holding a hint of fear leftover, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Come make me not afraid of the water. Let's have a romantic night."

He straightened, and blood rushed between his legs at her nakedness now that danger was gone.

"I need my dress." She blushed and pointed to his hand.

"Oh." He stared at the dress in hand for a moment. When had that happened? Handing over the dress, his head fell back with a silent groan of agony as she turned away to put it on. A curse whispered past his lips.

"Mark, I can't get it on being wet." She had it over her shoulders but couldn't tug it farther.

"Dear god, Tanya," he moaned, the desire almost painful. The danger of having almost lost her set his blood on fire, needing to sink into her and cherish every moment with her. Fisting his hands at his sides to keep from touching her, a long sigh-growl released that did little to ease the tension building in every muscle that screamed to pick her up in his arms and have his way.

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes just as dark with lust. The muse stopped wrestling with the garment and marched over, tugging him down for devouring kiss and setting his hand on her bottom to pull her closer.

It unleashed the animalistic frenzy, and suddenly, she was on the beach beneath him as his hips thrust against her while trying to tug down his pantaloons. She panted and clung, completely willing to surrender. This wasn't right. Dear god, it took every thread of willpower to climb off of this beautiful woman.

"Mark?" She sat up and tugged hard on the dress, only able to get it over her breasts before she gave up and curled her knees up to hide her nakedness.

"No, don't." He reached out to stop her shame, but touching would only pour fuel on the fire. "I want you so much that I can't touch you right now."

"We're wed." The beautiful creature looked so confused and self-conscious.

"I agreed to courtship in the tribe. I won't ruin your reputation here." Taking extreme care to not brush her skin, he helped her pull down her dress. "Stay here." He scooted out into the water and dove under, pushing his limits to swim as far away as possible and burn out this wild instinct she'd awoken.

Popping up at the other end of the pool under the waterfall, his eyes skimmed the shoreline. Goddammit, she sat there, with her wet hair draped around her shoulders, and drew with a finger in the sand. One hand leaned down and her bare legs stretched out to the side like an exotic siren, her silent song pulling him back to shore with powers no mortal could resist.

As he scooted backwards up the shore to sit in the water chest deep, she looked up. The way her wet dress clung and damp locks framed her face brought out her exotic features, rushing the need all over again. No woman had ever made him this animalistic, this out of control, dammit.

"Are we going to swim now?" Then she smiled like only his Tanya could smile in such a carefree, pure way after nearly drowning.

God have mercy, need had never been this painful. If tonight didn't kill him, the Devil just might get ideas of how to torture in Hell. "Get in here," he barked.

She wadded in and floated into a graceful sit beside him, a mischevious smile on her lips. "It's been a long time since my bear has come."

A growl served as the response. "You will hold my hand until you can swim well enough on your own."

"Yes, Mark." She smiled.

"We need to go home soon." He scooted to stand in chest-deep water and held out a hand. "Come. We'll practice treading here."

When she reached shoulder deep herself a yard away, she hesitated.

Coming closer, his hands rested on her hips. "Tread. I'll keep you up." He pulled her out into a little bit deeper water.

A bit later, a female giggle followed a sudden splash of water in the face. Shaking the water off his face, he spotted her swimming away parallel to the shore as fast as she could. "You can't escape!" A stupid grin took hold as he shot after her.

A shriek of delight and she tried to swim faster, but three of her strokes didn't buy enough speed to outdistance every one of his.

His hand wrapped around her dainty ankle and tugged, dragging her backwards into his arms. "Put your legs around me." The words came out husky.

"Can you hold both of us?" Fear flashed in her eyes.

"I won't let you slip under water." Guiding her legs to wrap around, he pulled her arms around his neck and kept treading. With a leg missing, the power was gone to be able to have his arms free for kissing.

Her body relaxed in his arms as she seemed to realize he could support her weight. The tender smile that touched her lips, the way her eyes softened like no other man to walk the earth had ever been so wonderful...it was enough to cause a pang as she stole his damn heart. "Well? Are you going to make me do all the work?" he growled.

"What would you like me to do?" Her fingers ran through his hair in a tantalizing caress, with a smile playing on her lips.

"A kiss would be a start," he huffed.

She giggled and brushed a brief kiss. "Is that what you want, my cuddle bear?" The scowl served well, for she brushed his lips again, this time slipping her tongue past in an erotic dance.

Reaching up to capture her face and deepen the kiss, a curse escaped just as she pulled free and he bobbed under water. Dammit, she'd made all memory of needing to swim with his arms flee. Luckily, she treaded well enough to keep herself above water. A small hand pulled his arm as he came up sputtering. Running a hand over his face to wipe off the water revealed the wench laughing!

"Are you alright?" She didn't sound the least bit nervous of the water.

"Get to shore. We need to go home," he growled. Enough humiliation for one day. He headed for shore.

"I think it's sweet that you got so wrapped up in the kiss." Her arms wrapped around his neck from behind in a hug.

A grunt of disagreement replied, and he kept swimming. Her weight didn't slow progress of cutting through the water.

"You can pull us both?" Quiet awe filled her voice.

Well damn, that did well to soothe the embarrassment. "Of course." He loosened her arms and moved so she laid down his back. The arm space gave room for powerful front strokes to cut through the water.

Her carefree laughter through the forest lent more energy to turn onto his back with her draped down his front and speed along. She positively beamed with happiness as she belly laughed at his sudden turns into their own waves.

Lying on the shoreline minutes later, the world felt perfect. He laid with an arm tucked behind his head and her head on his shoulder while the warm water lapped up to his neck, and the stars glittered in the sky to make it a perfect summer night. In the water, there was little hinderance with one leg, and she relied on him. It was like she craved wanting to need him. It finally dawned - his fear of not being needed since the amputation had forced her into a caregiver role. She was a woman strong enough to not need a man, but tonight had brought to light how much she wanted moments of being taken care of - and how little he'd given that lately.

"Can we come again tomorrow?" she asked, breaking into the thoughts. Her fingers traced a light pattern over his chest.

"We can come early in the morning." He stroked her damp locks and stared up at the heavens. "You're so quiet."

"You seemed like your old self tonight. I had so much fun." Sadness tinged her tone.

A deep sigh released. "I'm sorry for these past months. Tonight felt good, like we were equals and I could take care of you again."

She leaned up and looked down. A dark lock fell on her face that he tucked behind her ear. "We're always equals. I loved tonight because you didn't see yourself as an invalid, but as a protector and teacher. I know things are difficult to do, but tonight you were so confident."

Pulling her down to hold tight, he pressed a kiss to her hair. "It feels different in the tribe here, Tanya. There aren't the stares and judgements and worry that you and Charles will suffer socially because of me. It's easier to focus on tasks rather than appearances here. It's easier to see realize you don't see my leg. I notice too that you don't try to hide your breast."

"I think because scars are seen as honorable things here, not reason to be ashamed of a body. I don't worry anymore that I won't be seen as good enough for you."

"Oh, my girl," he sighed, "such hairbrained notions don't even belong in your beautiful head."

* * *

The next morning, the beautiful sight of her in the golden sunrise served as a welcome sight as he stepped out of his hut. She set up a pottery wheel. Charles laid on the buffalo skin chewing on dried bread that must soothe his teething pains, as Tanya gave it to him daily this week.

She glanced over, and a becoming blush stained her cheeks.

Dear god, even such an innocent, feminine reaction ignited his blood.

How beautiful and sweet she looked as she sat at the pottery wheel and pumped the petal while the blob of clay refused to take shape. The laborious journey to her on crutches took far too long when every fiber wanted to run over and be in her presence every moment humanly possible. "Good morning."

"Good morning." A shy smile brightened her eyes.

Working down onto the log seat beside her, he kissed her cheek. "You smell good," he whispered in her ear and sat back right when her grandmother came out. "Good morning, Lily."

"Mark. You look fresh and ready for the week."

Clearing his throat, he gave a small shake of his head. There hadn't been a chance to tell Tanya that Tiger had agreed this morning he was well enough to begin wedding preparation in the sweathouse.

Tanya frowned and looked to him. "What's happening this week?"

"Oh dear." Lily gave an apologetic look and hurried away.

"Your grandfather and I agree that, if done in short shifts, the sweathouse can be started today."

"But - "

He shook his head. "The medicinal herbs are coming into season. In the next couple weeks, the journey to the other side of the mountains must be done. After that, the tribe begins hunting in preparation for when the herds migrate. Usually they migrate with them, but the wars have disturbed nomadic patterns too much for the tribe to safely travel. It'll be the first winter staying put, so a great deal of food will have to be stored up. We can have the union ceremony next week. No arguments."

Her gaze dropped to his stump and then rose to his eyes in concern. Her voice came out so soft as she said, "I'd wait for you."

His heart twisted hard at that promise, knowing she'd wait until Hell itself froze over if he asked her to. Taking her hand slippery with clay, he held her eyes. "I know, but I don't want us to wait. I want to be with you and Charles now."

Those brown eyes dipped to his leg again, worry clouding her face. "Don't do something stupid," she pleaded.

Catching her chin with his finger, he tilted her head up to meet her eyes. "I'll quit if the sweathouse is too much. Promise that you'll not wander into the woods or do anything reckless. I'll be in there at least twelve hours a day, so I can't come rescue you."

A soft smile touched her lips. "I won't. Be careful."

He nodded and rested his forehead to hers. "Don't worry about me. We'll be getting married the next time I see you," he whispered, with a smile.


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's Note: From the little posted online about Native American culture in the 1800s that I could find, I tried to stay true to their customs. I'm sure there are some inaccuracies, though, so don't take it all as fact.**

 **Thanks for the reviews, Guest & Pinkdynamite! :)**

* * *

"Hello."

Five days of silence in the sweathouse made her voice sweeter than ever. Turning in his hut doorway, the smile couldn't be contained. "Good evening."

Her hair was plated in a braid over one shoulder and a strapless deerskin dress clung to her delicious curves. Instead of moccasins, she went barefoot tonight. So much of her beautiful skin bathed in the moonlight. Desire to ravish her battled with a wish to throw a greatcoat over her to shield the near-nakedness from any prying eyes. A slight frown wrinkled her brow. "You look upset."

An ache formed in his forehead from the severe scowl. "You're practically naked." And so goddamn gorgeous, without a thing to be done about this need for her yet. Such a sight would be more than welcome in private quarters, but her body was a gift given to him alone in marriage - his to worship and protect. Such clothing was only fit for a husband to see, not the entire village.

The woman glanced down at herself, and then those brown eyes floated back to him. "It's easier to nurse Charles, and the sun was hot today. Grandmama says it's perfectly acceptable to wear this."

What moron decided women could safely go prancing around in such getup? It was a wonder some scoundrel hadn't taken advantage of her. " _I_ didn't say it's perfectly acceptable!" The words snapped out. Too long in the sweathouse and being without her soft body weren't a good combination for witnessing this new attire.

"Yes, Mark." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Are you jealous?"

"You aren't to go prancing around like that, acceptable or not for the tribe," he huffed. "Who would've protected you if some bastard had other ideas about you?"

A smile tugged her lips. "I stayed in the tribe. There were only a few dozen men and women around - I hate to damage your ego, but you're not the only one who looks out for me."

"All the more reason - the men didn't go hunting today!"

Her beautiful lips pursed. "The men here wouldn't hurt me, and you know it. One might mistake you for being jealous, Mark."

"It's nothing to do with jealousy! You're my wife, goddammit!" Almost. The wedding ceremony couldn't come fast enough.

Fairy-like laughter mingled with the crickets' song, and those brown eyes danced in merriment. "No one will turn my head but you, Mark."

"That's not the point! Men are apes who gawk at anything female." The words snapped out, but they didn't seem to make a point, as she continued smiling like nothing more significant than the weather was in discussion. "Other men would lock you in your chambers for a week for such attire! I've a mind to lock you in your hut with no one but me!"

Musical laughter filled the air, and she set a hand on his bare chest. The warmth of her hand did nothing but stoke the embers of passion threatening to burst into flames. "Has my cuddle bear returned? I've been neglected for nearly a week." Her pink bottom lip stuck out in a false pout.

"Two more days, and you'll be wishing I was back at the sweathouse," he growled. Only two more days, and no one would question if he didn't emerge from her hut for a week.

A throaty sigh escaped her lips as her head fell back to meet his gaze. She stepped up to his chest. "Kiss me."

Dear god, she was so beautiful. Her sweet, flowery scent wafted in the summer night, enveloping in a cloud of serenity and love and desire. She was hypnotizing. "We shouldn't be seen together this close to the wedding ceremony." The words came out in a whisper. Her gaze, her scent, her touch, her voice...everything about her drew a man in, like a moth to a flame unable to resist the danger. "I need to bathe yet." The words breathed out in a hypnotic trance, every fiber of being willing to submit to her any whim if only in exchange for a fleeting kiss.

"I don't care," she whispered and splayed her delicate hands over his shoulders - those small hands that surged such intense sensations of masculinity.

One taste was all it took for the fire to ignite. Pulling her supple body into his arms, the next moments were lost in a kiss.

Primal instincts surged, chasing out all rational thought. Her body felt so soft and warm in the cool summer night. Her little moans of pleasure intoxicated, threatening all loss of self-control. To ravish this siren in the fields on a warm summer night like this...

The brush of her hand against on the cheek to deepen the kiss shot weakness through the knees, a need to fall at her feet and beg for more. Violent drumming of a heartbeat drowned out all sound except for the roar of desire to surrender to her. As her arms wrapped around in an embrace, the last threads of sanity fled, leaving a desperate instinct to have her by whatever means she'd offer.

Sharp, white-hot pain burned at the graze of her arm against the ribs where the flesh had become raw with rubbing on the crutches. A gasp of pain broke the spell.

Her arms jerked away, and she looked up with wide eyes. "Are you hurt?" Without waiting for an answer, she lifted his arm and pulled away the crutch.

"I'm fine, woman." The words barked out harsher than intended, the sting too much of being reminded during such an intimate, wonderful moment of what he no longer was.

"No, you're not." That tiny wrinkle formed in her brow, as it did whenever she worried. "Oh, Mark, your sides are rubbed raw from the crutches. But, I thought you spend all day in the sweathouse. How is this so bad?" She checked the other side too that felt just as painful.

"It was irritated going into the sweathouse. Being damp all day has just exacerbated the tissue breaking down. It's only two more days. I don't need coddling." Pulling his arm free, he looked away. A moment ago, she'd not seen anything but a whole man she'd desired to seduce with her spell. At the flip of a switch, reality crashed down to once again force her to be the caregiver for an invalid. For but a moment, things had been like before the amputation. He straightened the crutch.

But she stole a crutch and set it out of reach. "No."

Panic. Air ceased to exist. Breathing was impossible. A tinny ringing drowned out her voice. And then, she started to walk away, leaving no way to reach crutch, aside from crawling like a pathetic dog. Just like last time. "Anna, give it back." Every muscle paralyzed, making it hard to even squeeze out words.

She froze and turned, her eyes brimming with worry, but she brought the crutch back. Her mouth moved, but no sound could be heard over the roar of thundering heartbeats.

When the safety of the crutch returned, an uncontrollable instinct kicked in to gulp air - as if he hadn't breathed for several moments.

"Mark...I'm not Anna." She gave gentle strokes on his chest, as if soothing a frightened horse.

"I know that," he snapped. God, the panic had come out of nowhere, bringing to life long-forgotten memories - ones that Tanya didn't need to know.

"You called me 'Anna.'"

Shit. Closing his eyes, a deep breath escaped. Nothing like piling on the humiliation. "I severely sprained my ankle in the woods when I was eight. No one believed me, so the walking stick I found to use was taken away. I crawled back to the house the next morning." A harsh glance portrayed the desire to not speak of it further.

Horror parted her lips in a shocked gasp. "Your parents didn't search for you?"

Looking away, he grunted. "They were told I was left by the lake, so they were searching the opposite side of the vast grounds. Good night."

A gentle lay of her hand on his arm stopped from turning to go inside the hut. "Who else was there with Anna?" The way she said it revealed that she knew it'd only been Anna.

Quickly turning his head away, pride prevented from answering that question. It'd been a terrifying night, with real dangers from a pack of wolves that had been preying on horses in pastures at night.

"I took your crutch so you wouldn't be stubborn and hurt yourself. I said to just sit while I get your horse for you to ride to the stream. I wouldn't take your crutch and just leave you." Her voice remained steady and gentle.

Of course she never would, which must've been why Anna's name had slipped out. Had Tanya been there in childhood, she would've been his able defender - likely with the spunk to have sent Anna running home crying and then have carried him on her own back all the way home.

Rising onto her toes, she gave a light tug on the arm to bend down. Warm lips pressed to his cheek. Without a word, she handed over the crutch and then left to get the horse. Her eyes held confusion, likely why he'd been a blind, wet-behind-the-ears fool to have married Anna - one whom had seemed like such a prize because women were supposed to be dependent, delicate and uninterested in intellectual pursuits. Tanya would never understand the rationale behind marrying Anna. And he would never remember how life had held any interest before Tanya.

To her everlasting credit, she kept any anger toward Anna to herself and didn't comment further on the memory. The silent, companionable horseback ride with her in his lap offered a much needed balm.

At the stream, she slid down without aid, as if having lived this way her entire life. Then it dawned that leaving the crutches behind had been a mistake - there was no way to get from the horse to stream without crawling. Taking the horse deep enough into the stream to dismount risked being swept away with the current.

She turned and held up a hand. "Come."

"I forgot the crutches - "

"And you have a perfectly good set right here."

Curious as to what she meant, he slid down and held the horse's mane to stay upright.

The woman slipped under his right arm and planted herself as a crutch.

"You can't be serious."

"You're so afraid of hurting me that you've never tried to see what I can do. Hush. Papa was half unconscious whenever I'd drag him home from the pub."

"Your father wasn't near my size, either."

"But his deadweight is equivalent to what you are conscious. My size doesn't necessarily equal lack of brawn, husband." Her left arm wrapped around his back and held tight to the waistband over his left hip.

At least being on grass would be a soft impact to get under her and absorb the hit himself. "It's your head that I'll land on," he grumbled and took a hop to prove the point.

The minx stepped right into the flow, acting like another leg. She shook the tiniest bit under so much weight, but her grip around his waist kept her braced as much as him. The moment of landing on his left foot, she was steady and braced for the next hop. Only once did she stumble a bit by the end, but he compensated fast enough to catch her.

In the stream, she helped get knee deep to where the water lapped at the hem of her short dress.

"I'm alright from here so you don't get soaked. Thank you." Letting go, he sank into the water and scooted out a bit deeper.

She giggled. "Did you bring the soap?"

"Oh. No." The stress had prevented planning ahead. Heat crept up his face from embarrassment.

"You probably need fresh pants and a towel too."

"Dammit."

"I'll get them," she laughed, the sound so utterly happy that all embarrassment fled.

The cool water was wonderful relief from the heat of the sweathouse. Tugging off the wet deerskin pants, he tossed them to shore and dove underwater. The babbling of the stream and rush of a light current carried invigorating energy. A swim would be just the thing to wear out this restless need for Tanya.

Mark wasn't in the stream upon returning with his toiletries, but his pants laid in a heap at the edge of the stream. He popped up farther out in the water like he was swimming laps before he disappeared beneath again. A moment later, he surfaced doing a powerful front stroke in the moonlight.

"Mark!"

But he kept swimming with his face in the water, as if he hadn't heard. He headed upstream this way, so she waded out into the water with the soap. It felt so cool and refreshing after the hot summer day, so she waded out thigh deep. Slipping on the pebbles underfoot, her heart shot into her threat just before catching her balance. He came closer upstream but was out deeper still. The current made it a little harder to balance.

Pushing out to the waist-deep water, a yelp of surprise escaped as her feet jerked out from underneath and the current glided her right past him. "Mark!" It wasn't a dangerously or fast current, but it was too strong to get to shore alone.

His head popped up and eyes widened as she floated away.

Grabbing a large boulder sticking out of the water, she climbed on top and waited, curling her legs up to the side on the rock. The poor man cut through with strong strokes, but his weight seemed to bog him down rather than let the water sweep him along like it had her.

Once he arrived, he stood up in the chest-deep water without even needing to hold onto the rock against the current. "Are you alright?"

Her jaw dropped. "It's not even deep?!"

A hearty laugh bubbled out of him. "Your spitfire doesn't match your size, sweetheart." He held out a hand and used the other arm to tread and help balance on one foot.

"I like England better," she huffed and scooted closer to the edge of the rock.

"Why's that?" His eyes twinkled with merriment.

"Because I didn't need rescuing every week from moose, waterfalls and rivers! I'm not a damsel in distress, you know."

He chuckled as she slid into his arms. "Of course not, although I do feel the current threatening to tug you away."

It did pull hard enough that it was impossible to stand on her toes. Her fingers wrapped tighter around his biceps.

"I've never seen such a cranky mermaid. Perhaps you're a misplaced siren." He kept an arm firmly around her waist and began swimming toward the embankment.

"Ha ha. The joke is on you because I lost the soap."

A mock gasp and then his face brightened with a smile. "No soap? I can't live such a barbaric life."

That won a laugh, and she pulled out of his arms once able to safely touch the ground. "You're an idiot."

"But you love me." He grinned and threw himself backwards into the deeper water, letting the splash swallow him up.

Stealing his towel, she snuggled inside it as he used a rag to wash with just water. It was peaceful watching him bathe. Ironically, tribal life seemed to agree with him in ways England and pioneer America hadn't. In this land, he had a quiet, gentle strength. That arrogance of the Marquess had evaporated for the most part, almost as if it'd been a defense against the cruel ways of Society. Or perhaps, he'd become softer with marriage. One thing was certain - his self-confidence blossomed in tribal life. The men didn't expect any less of him because of his leg, which seemed to encourage him to be blind to limitations that Englishman had imposed upon him. The irritating fact that she kept needing rescuing also seemed to be a blessing in disguise - he didn't seem to doubt his worth so much anymore as a suitor or husband. Tonight was the first time in weeks that his self-consciousness had resurfaced; however, it'd vanished just as fast.

He swam toward the embankment and scooted to be waist deep in the water.

She walked over and handed him the towel before taking his hand to help him stand. Glancing at his face to divert her eyes, her cheeks burned harder when he blushed while wrapping the towel around his waist.

"You should probably go before we're caught," he said, his voice quite deep with huskiness.

Bowing her head and looking away, she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. "I don't know why I feel like I've never seen a man. We've made love dozens of times and I've seen you and - "

"Tanya," he said softly and cut off the nervous babbling. The tip of his forefinger against her chin guided her eyes back to him. "We're still adjusting to life here, and living for weeks in a courtship changes our relationship. We'll get back to where we were. I think this reset has been a good thing for us in many ways. Just because we're having a wedding ceremony in a couple days doesn't mean we have to make love that night." His hand rested over hers, as if sensing that she fidgeted due to nerves.

Meeting his eyes, she drew a steadying breath. "I know you wouldn't force anything, but have you heard the consummation custom?"

His brow furrowed. "No. What have you heard?"

She shrugged and refused to look at him. "Rumors. I think." Hopefully. Stories of the Elders and their wives verifying consummation on the wedding night - an act that was meant only to lay claim, without emotion. An act that would be as cold and frightening as that horrific night nearly two years ago, although Mark would never cause as much pain. The fear, although imagined and constructed of memories, would most likely hit with terrifying force. "I should go before my grandparents or Charles wake up and realize I'm missing." Her voice came out flat and dull, not wishing to think of this terrible topic.

"Tanya?" He sounded confused.

"Good night." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried home.

* * *

"Then the tribe will escort you to your hut - Grandfather and I will move into Mark's, as it's custom for the husband to become part of the wife's tribe and move into her hut. The drums will call the Spirits as he claims you," Grandmama explained a couple days later.

Her eyebrows rose. "Wait, the whole tribe waits while...?"

"The first time is just meant to be quick and for reproductive purposes. He'll use a salve on himself so it's not painful for you. One of the Elder's wives will check you to confirm that the union occurred." Grandmama finished braiding her hair.

The other women brought in a deerskin dress painted for the ceremony, but little of the activities sank in, an irrational fear taking hold about the wedding night. That long-lost fear of men began to creep in, compounded by the fact that no true door existed on the huts to keep out the men who would be outside during consummation. Tonight would hold no passion, no gentle words to hold back the demons that would return for a feast.

* * *

Tanya was beautiful for the wedding ceremony, the foreign dress seeming perfect on her. But, never once did she smile. A distant, faraway look clouded those brown eyes.

When he took her hand during the ceremony, it was cold and clammy. With a frown, he stroked a finger over her cheek to gain her attention. "What's wrong?" he whispered when she looked up. But she simply shook her head and seemed to withdraw into herself for the rest of the ceremony. Dancing and celebrating went on for hours, but she remained silent for the most part and refused to speak of what troubled her. The women fussed over her, giving no time for private conversation either.

Upon reaching the hut that the Elders led the procession to, she hesitated. He took her hand that shook. Her chest heaved in choppy breaths. "Come tell me what's wrong," he said in low undertones under the ceremonial singing. A gentle tug made her follow into her hut for privacy.

Once inside, he closed the door flap. Low, hollow pounding of the drums began. She jumped so hard and shot away from the door, her eyes wide and misty like she fought to not burst into tears. Shaking so hard that her knees buckled, she dropped onto a pile of buffalo skins made to be sold in town. Her choppy breaths cut through the drums as she nearly hyperventilated, curling her knees to her chest. The entire time, her eyes didn't leave the doorway.

"Tanya, what happened? Why are you so frightened?" Hobbling over on the crutches, he dropped beside her, letting the crutches fall. "It's alright." Instinct said it was stress of consummating while everyone waited outside, but she acted...frightened. If anyone had touched her, they'd be goddamn disemboweled before morning. "Sweetheart?" Touching her arm in comfort only made her jerk away in fear.

His heart froze.

The moment she burst into sobs, an inexplicable pain so deep ripped through his chest. Oh god, she was terrified - of him. "Tanya, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm so scared." Her voice broke. "W, w..." she hiccupped and choked on tears as she forced out the instructions her grandmother had given about tonight.

"Jesus, your grandfather never said anything about this." No wonder she was frightened. The loud beat of the drums reverberating in the chest, the chanting for the Spirits, the sound of so many men's voices, and the lack of a sturdy door as a barrier would be too much for any assaulted woman to handle, much less the expectation of consummation. The way she explained it, intercourse sounded cold and not too unlike nightmares of her past. "Don't cry. I'm not going to do anything. Come here."

She scrambled into his lap and buried her face against his neck. Dampness collected until her big, terrified tears rolled down his chest.

"My lady love, no one will hurt you. I wouldn't let anyone." Cradling her tight, he stroked her back. "Don't cry. Let me go talk to the Elders."

She shook her head.

"Tanya, we aren't doing anything when you're this frightened."

"No, they're already bending rules for us - "

"Then they can bend one more," he ordered. "There are other tribes where consummation cannot happen before the third week, in effort to woo the wife of arranged marriage."

She sniffled and sat up to meet his eyes, not seeming to mind that he wiped her tears. "I'm not afraid of you..."

"You are. In this situation, you are."

But she shook her head, as if acknowledging that would break the last thread of safety. "But, I can't stay with you if we don't consummate," she hiccupped. "Just do it."

"Tanya - "

"Please." Her arms wrapped around his neck as she bowed her head on his chest and wept.

"No. Tanya, I think you're extremely stressed and overtired. I'm going to go talk to the Elders - "

The drums and singing silenced. Then one of the Elders' wives called to come in.

She scrambled out of his arms and backed up as far from the door as possible.

He looked from her to the older woman in confusion.

"I have to confirm the consummation."

There was commotion outside that sounded like Tiger arguing with someone.

His eyebrows shot up. "What?! Why the hell did no one tell me about all of this?! Tiger!" he roared and pushed himself up on the crutches, keeping between her and the woman.

Tiger entered a split second later.

"My wife is terrified out of her mind! Someone had better tell me what the hell is going on!"

* * *

She snuggled as close as possible in bed that night, her head on his shoulder and leg flung over his like when she'd been with child. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble with the Elders."

"They can kiss my arse. Your grandfather said he didn't tell me the customs because he knew it'd be too much for you to handle with your history. Apparently your grandfather made the mistake of being confident the Elders would agree with him this evening."

"Now you and grandfather are in trouble because we didn't consummate."

"It's none of their business if we did or didn't," he growled.

"Grandfather could lose his place among the Elders."

"He says if that happens, he's better off without their cold-hearted arses."

A slight smile lightened her tone. "He didn't say that."

"Well, not in those words. We should go to sleep."

"I heard that you risk being exiled from the tribe for rejecting their ways."

"Shh, wife. Everything will be alright." Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tucked an arm behind his head to sleep.

"Thank you," she whispered and nuzzled closer.

Closing his eyes, he sighed in contentment at having her in his arms again. "I won't be thanked for not terrorizing my lady love. I love you."

"I love you too," she yawned. The feel of her body relax in slumber tugged at heartstrings. In his arms, she felt safe and happy and loved - and that was worth any price.


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's Note: The condition Tanya develops is, thankfully, rare. However, before medical advances we have now, women often died from it. Of course we can't lose Tanya, so our hero figures out something else to do.**

* * *

Mark emerged from the Elder's hut with Grandfather the next morning.

She shot to her feet beside Grandmama. "What happened?" It had sounded like one of the Elders had demanded a consummation within the next couple days.

"Your grandfather is cut off from the Elders, and I'm to be fed to the bears."

"What?!"

He snorted and Grandfather rolled his eyes.

"This isn't the sixteenth century, woman. Your grandfather was praised for wisely handling the situation even though the Elders didn't all agree with him. I was ordered to get you with child within a year."

Grandfather gave Mark a scolding look.

"Alright, I told them I'd have you pregnant soon. Children are an important part of the tribe."

She frowned and fell into step with him. "Why would you decide that on your own? This isn't England where men get all the say."

"So I've noticed," he muttered. "If you recall, you told me a few months ago that you wanted another babe once Charles was a year or two old. He's seven months now."

"Yes, but we also didn't expect to be adapting to tribal life."

He stopped and looked at her. "We have twelve months to start. I'm not proposing we go at it like rabbits starting right now."

Her face burned in embarrassment at the innuendo. "Fine, whenever you decide the brood mare should come out of the barn." She turned on her heel.

"Don't act like I'm some overbearing husband who is making you pop out a dozen brats." He sounded slightly breathless like he hurried on the crutches to catch up to her quick trot.

"He gives you such liberties that you forget what a wife's duties are." Grandmama's quiet but stern tone cut in from her other side. Grandmama's gaze remained forward and back straight, ever the image of an Elder's wife. So, Grandmama had heard the Elder's actual conversation too that demanded consummation soon.

That silenced further protests. Most women were lucky to not be in pain the day after marriage, and here she was complaining that he was willing to wait weeks or months in exchange for a child that she wanted as much as he did.

Mark caught up, and Grandmama veered off with Grandfather toward their new hut. "If you've objections - "

"It's fine."

His gaze could be felt as he seemed to study her profile for a moment. He remained silent the rest of the way home.

Once inside, he got ready to leave with the men for the day while she nursed Charles. This kind of screaming silence hadn't existed since the first days of marriage in England.

With a sack slung across his back, he finally stopped and looked at her with sad eyes. "I don't see you as some possession to force out heirs. I hope you know that."

Giving a slow nod, she locked eyes for a moment, not even knowing how to bring up the subject that a consummation tonight wasn't unwelcome. Self-consciousness and some nerves still clung from last night, preventing the courage to comment.,

"I didn't want to leave like this." He hesitated for a moment. With a nod to himself, his eyes fell to the ground and he left.

Then it dawned that he must think she was angry and he'd been waiting for her reply. "Mark!" Pulling closed the dress, she hurried out with Charles.

He stood a few paces away and waited for her to catch up.

"I was caught by surprise and didn't know what to say. I...I heard the Elders say a consummation - "

"It doesn't matter what they say. It will come in time, when you're not frightened." His brisk tone portrayed his hurt.

"Mark," she protested.

He sighed and looked away.

"You wouldn't hurt me. Grandmama is right that I'm taking advantage of the leeway you give, and this is something that has no harm. I don't know why I got so hysterical last night - "

His head snapped to her, and his eyes narrowed. Every muscle in his body coiled in anger. "You were hysterical because I let you get in a situation that terrified you!" he hissed. "And if your grandmother has an opinion on this, she keeps it to herself or talks to me; she does not guilt you into it!"

She blinked. "I didn't mean that. Mark, you're taking this too hard - "

"Too hard? I watched my wife sob and cower in horrific terror in a way I've _never_ witnessed anyone do! Not even in the kitchen back East when you had a meltdown did you look that terrified of me!" He thumped a fist to his chest. "You were traumatized nearly two years ago, and something about last night made you relive it! Jesus, everyone can keep their goddamn noses out of it! You're _my_ wife and technically already were when we arrived here! I'm becoming goddamn sorry we came!"

Pressing her lips together in embarrassment, she glanced at the people who had begun to stare.

Grandfather came over and set a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Let's go for a hunt and cool down."

But Mark shrugged his hand off and turned. Rather than be embarrassed everyone stared, his neck reddened and he exploded. "No one understands what's going on, and it's no one's business! If anyone makes more comments to my wife about it - "

"Mark." She stepped in front of him and set a hand on his bare chest. "I know you want to protect me, but you can't go threatening everyone. Go hunting. Get away from this for awhile, and we'll figure it out when you get home."

It took some urging, but he finally left still stark raving mad. Hopefully the men knew enough to not provoke him while armed for hunting.

* * *

He returned home at sunset, quiet but not in a much better mood. During dinner, he held Charles in his lap but otherwise remained silent.

Once Charles was in bed and asleep, she sat on the cot beside Mark as he rubbed his poor leg from a long day of riding. "You're so quiet." Her hands slipped in to take over for him.

"I'm tired and still angry at the world," he growled but submitted to the massage.

A tiny smile tugged. "I've been thinking. Hear me out first. I want to get it over with. It's so many men being near during it, and that it's supposed to be so quick and emotionless that frightens me - the fact that salve is needed because it's so quick." A glance up revealed him obviously biting his tongue to let her finish.

"I'm afraid because you've always given time for pleasure so it wouldn't hurt and made it so there was nothing to frighten me. The only time without those things, it was horrible pain and so much blood." He opened his mouth, the rage building in his eyes at the mention of the assault, but he closed his mouth when she continued. "The rational part of my mind knows you would never hurt me, but the other part is is too terrified to be reasoned with. I just...I want it over because this fear is going to grow out of control."

He sat silent for a few moments, his jaw muscle twitching under the beard scruff. "I'm just about ready to take you and Charles out of here."

"No, I don't want to go." Grabbing his arm in plea, her heart pounded in distress. "No one looks at us like we're outcasts, and my family is here. Brigands and Teresa are supposed to arrive any day. We can't keep uprooting everyone."

"And I'm not going to watch my wife forced into something that terrifies her for the goddamn sake of following some custom when we're already married. You're not willing and you're scared as hell, which carries little difference from rape, Tanya." His expression turned so very cold and his voice unyielding in a way never witnessed before.

"Please, Mark. It's not rape - I am consenting. Grandfather says the tribe is so close to accepting us."

Clenching his teeth, his eyes flashed in the lantern light, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Setting a hand on his arm, she scooted closer. "Please, just this one last thing - "

"I'm not terrorizing you. When you're that frightened, it's rape." His nostrils flared and chest rose and fell in deep breaths of anger. Distain dripped from his tone.

"It's not rape. You'll be gentle. I didn't understand what to expect yesterday. Please, just get it over with and then no one has to meddle anymore."

"If we leave, there's no reason for anyone to meddle," he hissed, visibly angrier by the minute.

"Please, Mark. This feels like it could be home. Just honor this one last custom."

"Do you hear yourself? Do you understand what you're asking me to do to you?! You'll be terrified of me afterwards!"

"No," she whispered as tears welled, because he might be right that horrific nightmares would happen afterwards. "I won't because you're where it's safe and gentle."

"And that will be destroyed if I agree to this. No." For the next three days, he didn't even initiate a kiss, much less touch.

Each night, he gave the same answer.

"We can't never make love again." She rolled over in bed and sighed when he refused to act on his very obvious desire.

"Fine, remain quiet so no one finds out, and I'll make love to you."

"Mark, that defeats the purpose. The first union has to be sanctioned - "

He rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "We will try, but I promise nothing."

A huge sigh of relief escaped, and she nodded. Things felt different here, like it was worth this to make sure Mark and Charles were accepted as part of the tribe. Of course, Mark would put a halt to all of this if he realized it was for him.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Clearly he held his tongue. "Should we wait a few nights to make sure you're - "

"No."

"I promise I won't hurt you." He sighed, as if disagreeing with her decision. "I'll go tell the Elders."

* * *

"It's alright," he whispered under the loud thunder of the drums calling the Spirits, and eased her back onto the bed that evening. He tried to caress, but nerves were wound too tight. "Sweetheart, you must relax so it doesn't hurt." Even the deep rumble of his voice that usually soothed wasn't enough to hold back the demons that began to creep.

"Just do it." A shaky breath released, and her fingers laced tighter with his resting near her head. Biting her lip at the pressure that was uncomfortable but not painful as he began to join, every muscle braced for what was next.

Instead, he withdrew and reached between to touch himself as he kissed her neck, keeping his chest pressed to hers. "It'll hurt too much. I won't take you, but we'll make it look like I did."

Loved welled for the embarrassment he sacrificed so she wouldn't be frightened.

His body held so much tension. "Tanya, I'm so stressed, I need your help."

Pressing kisses to his neck, she let her hands roam his body until he grew restless.

"Tanya," he panted and shifted over her more, "relax. Deep breaths. It's just my finger."

Her cheeks burned when an Elder's wife had to verify consummation, but Mark sat beside the cot and held her hand. His farce passed.

He sat on the other side of the fire with the men while the women touched her belly and danced to call the Spirits to make it a fruitful union. Glancing over at him, a blush crept up when he looked over at the same moment.

 _You alright?_ he mouthed, his eyes brimming with worry over the farce consummation yet.

A shy smile bloomed as she gave a small nod. He worried so much, even when he'd given her nothing to be upset about. _Love you._

 _Love you too._ His expression remained quiet and stoic, but tenderness reflected in his eyes. Grandfather handed Mark the ceremonial smoking pipe, stealing Mark's attention as he appeared to be asking questions and eyeing it with skepticism. Soon after, everyone headed to bed.

It was good to see Mark get up with the prosthesis tonight instead of still needing crutches. His walk again had that slight swagger, slight aire of a man who was confident and proud of the protection he offered.

* * *

A few days later, Mark was already out of bed and bright daylight filtered into the teepee. Charles was gone too. Sitting up, that incessant ache in the small of her back was still there. Lying down again triggered more monthly breast discomfort.

Mark followed Charles, who crawled into the hut. "Mama's awake." His smile disappeared. "Do you feel alright? You've slept ten hours, but you look exhausted." Scooping up the babe, he came to sit on the edge of the cot.

"I'm just tired."

Charles pulled himself up and gave a two-toothed grin good morning.

"Come cuddle." She pulled him up, and he snuggled. And then pulled at her dress for breakfast.

Mark felt her brow and frowned when the simple act of nursing Charles caused a whimper of pain. "No bite Mama," he scolded.

"No, I'm just sore from my time coming due." She stroked Charles's hair as he looked up in contentment. "The women say he'll be walking soon - that he's ahead for his age."

He must've caught the note of relief in her voice. "He's a smart chap. The malnutrition doesn't show any signs of having stunted him other than his size. In another year, he might be caught up in that too." Although he kept a hand on the babe, his eyes studied her in concern. "Let me check you when he's finished. You don't look well."

"You might be just starting to come down with something." He put his medical bag away a few minutes later and studied her in concern again. "Perhaps you should stay in bed today."

"There isn't time to be sick. We haven't even actually consummated either."

His eyebrow cocked. "There'll be plenty of time for that. We need to make sure you're not getting ill right now."

* * *

"How is she?" Tiger approached with Lily a couple days later as he rinsed out a bowl from Tanya getting sick.

"Has anyone reported influenza? She's vomiting now too."

Lily's eyes widened in horror. Tiger shook his head, grave concern in his eyes. "Is she still sleeping so much?"

"Like the dead." Running a hand through his hair in distress, he swallowed down the panic. Tiger blurred behind tears that welled. "Would you check her? Perhaps there's something I'm missing."

"Of course. She's not with child, is she?"

"If she is, it's too soon to tell." He ducked inside - best to avoid more questions about that. A farce consummation made pregnancy highly unlikely anyways.

Tiger didn't find anything either. Lily caught his arm without a word and led the way outside while Tiger visited with Tanya.

She turned, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Grief is in your face. Tanya once said your first wife succumbed to cancer. Tanya has it too, doesn't she?"

Swallowing hard, the grief shoved back down. Not voicing it would keep the nightmare from coming true. "Tumors could be felt in my first wife. We can't feel anything in Tanya."

"Not all tumors can be felt, though." She wrung her hands.

Glancing away, that was a fact that was better not acknowledged either.

"Mark, is there any possibility this is extreme morning sickness?"

Grief couldn't be held back, and the tears slipped free, along with the confession.

Tears slipped down Lily's face at the end of the confession. "I'll pray to the Spirits that the impossible has happened and it is a baby, because..." her voice broke, "I refuse to believe she's dying." Then she hurried away.

* * *

Holding his hands a few days later, his aid was now needed to even stand, much less walk from being so weak. Six days and no herbs or medicine that he gave would keep any food down. It'd been easy to forget what sharp hunger pains felt like since being under Mark's roof. Now, thinking of nothing but food and pain quickly became an obsession. Mark had finally removed even pans and dishes from sight, and put a halt to trying even water to no more than once an hour.

He helped balance on the scale he'd bought in town, being as careful touching as if he handled a glass doll.

The hungry gurgling of her stomach had become a constant noise, but it seemed to pain Mark to hear it each time. His hand rested gently on her belly that had already begun to sink inward with starvation, and his other hand gingerly wrapped around her waist.

"Mark." Holding tight to his arm didn't even stop the room from spinning.

"I've got you. We just need a few seconds on the scale to tell how much weight you've lost."

It had to be significant because clothes that had clung to curves a week ago now bagged, and hip bones and ribs had begun to protrude.

Panic flashed through his eyes when he looked down.

Ten pounds lost.

"Did you get this ill with Charles?" he asked for the second time today, as he did every day like he hoped for some new answer.

Shaking her head, she kept quiet as he carried her back to bed, mindful of the painful intravenous line in her arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your weakness mimics some of the symptoms during the cholera epidemic in the 1830s. Not being able to intake water could be having the same effect as losing water. You're able to take copious amounts of fluid before you need to void and your blood is thick, so I suspect dehydration is what's weakening you so fast."

Then he started his daily ritual of palpating and examining everything possible. He never said a word about it, but it wasn't hard to figure out that he thought cancer was responsible somewhere. Grief filled his eyes more each day. Grandmama mentioned that every afternoon while she slept, Mark went to the sweathouse and prayed to the Spirits and prayed to God - to anyone who might listen to his plea.

Trying to push up, she reached for the bowl. He easily pulled her upright without effort and supported her back as every muscle convulsed in a painful heave, but there was nothing left to come back up. When it passed and she gasped for air, he cradled her in his arms. And his chest silently shuddered.

"Mark, it'll be alright. Could it be some type of parasite?"

"I don't know that you'd be able to tolerate treatment, even if it is, but you have no symptoms of parasites." He sniffled.

The effort from standing drained all energy, except for resting a hand over his.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered in heartbreak. "Your heartbeat is even slowing to try to preserve all energy. If there was a babe, you should've miscarried by now out of self-preservation. You're starving at an incredible rate, like something is sucking everything from you." Her shoulder grew wet, as if he wept.

He was so terrified, and Fate seemed cruel enough to make him relive losing another wife yet the same way. "Mark? You said if you would've operated on Anna sooner - "

He shook his head and pulled back, wiping the tears from his red-rimmed eyes. "Even if it is cancer, we've no idea where it is. We could hack you open and still see nothing. No, I'm not experimenting on you like some sick vivisection - "

She nudged his hand down to her lower belly. "It has to be a babe, or there's some kind of tumor here. It feels so full."

"Because of starvation bloating. I've checked, and it's too early to even tell if there's a pregnancy."

Slipping her hand into his, she held his eyes. After the suffering Anna went through, he was afraid it was too late and to impose any type of suffering. "A few more days. If things aren't better, do surgery. If it's cancer, maybe it can be cut out."

* * *

The next day, he knelt beside the cot, his face so tortured. "Tanya, your body isn't tolerating this." He looked ill and held her hand. "We need to place a feeding tube - "

Panic hit. "Surgery?"

"No, no, no. The risk of infection with that is too high. Your grandfather has experience with physicians who thread the tube up the nose and to the small intestine, bypassing the stomach so nausea isn't triggered. We'll give a light sedation being it's not a comfortable procedure." His voice quivered just a hint.

"If there is a babe, this is safe?"

He nodded.

"Why do you look scared?"

Tears shimmered in his eyes. "I hate when you need anything medical done. I just want you healthy."

A gentle squeeze of his hand held back his tears. "I'm not going anywhere."

Kisses came a plenty, and he hovered and held her hand and fretted himself mad as Grandfather got everything ready. As sedation took hold, he whispered, "I love you." Everything faded into oblivion.

Something tickled her nose, and she reached up.

A strong hand caught hers as her eyes fluttered open. "Slow down, she's waking up," Mark's voice ordered. "Sweetheart, we gave just enough sedation to knock you out for a moment. You'll be pain free for a few more minutes while we finish."

His face came into focus.

"I need you to not touch anything so we stay sterile, sweetheart."

"Swallow a few times," Grandfather ordered.

When she did, Grandfather threaded in more of an incredibly long tube. Tingling set in as the chloroform wore off.

Mark listened with a stethoscope to her chest. "Air." Grandfather pushed a syringe in the end of the tube. "Good. It's in her stomach." A little more tube went in, this time causing a wince of pain in the nose.

"There. We should be in the intestine. Would you like the honors?" He handed Mark a large syringe with whitish liquid.

"Alright, love, lets get some food into you." He demonstrated how to inject the food and chased it down with boiled water to clean the tube out. Then he capped the tube and tucked the length of it behind her ear. "Nauseous?" When she shook her head in surprise, he sat back and a real smile erased the days of stress and grief from his face.

Embarrassment hit as it dawned that a hideous brown tube came out her nose. "How long does - " Oh god, her voice sounded odd with the fat tube blocking an entire nostril. Letting some locks of hair fall to block the disgusting thing, she looked away as her face burned hot.

Gentle fingers swept aside her hair. "It's only a tube, and it's keeping you alive." Huskiness deepened his voice. "You're beautiful. You don't give a rat's arse about my leg, and I don't give a rat's arse about the tube. I'm hoping it's only for a week or two." His eyes held so much love.

Strength returned fast with the feeding tube, but Mark often stayed behind from hunting to keep an eye on her. He restricted too much activity, being a worry wart, but the quiet days were spent in wonderful companionship.

* * *

"Mark, I'm not at all attractive like this," she panted two weeks later. Nausea had returned without a feeding tube, so Mark and Grandfather had put another in again to try for two more weeks.

"Then you're insane because my body is saying otherwise." He shifted on top in bed, clearly having been neglected for too long. "Nothing could make you not beautiful." His hands roamed in a frenzy, and he kissed his way down her body.

Sensations were heightened, and simple touches brought uncontrollable pleasure.

"My lady love, you sound well pleased." The man sounded entirely too proud of himself. "We haven't even reached dinner yet."

As he laid claim, a cry of pain killed all the pleasure.

He immediately pulled away and looked down. A deep frown furrowed his brow. "Did I hurt you?"

Pressing her legs together she bit her lip and nodded. "You don't fit."

"What do you mean? It's not like I - " He touched her, and his eyebrows rose. "Let me palpate." His other hand reached to press on her belly.

"What?! You're not doing an exam in the middle of sex!" She pushed his hand away.

"No, when are your menses due?" He sat back and resumed the exam.

"They...oh. They should've started a week ago."

He smiled and continued palpating. "You're swollen from extra blood flow, which can make intercourse painful for some women, and your womb is enlarged. Your breasts are still sore?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, but I thought you said that one time was practically impossible."

His grin grew. "Apparently not. That must be what the extreme nausea is from." Tears of joy brimmed in his eyes. "Tanya, you're very much with child."

"A babe?" The shock of going from possibly dying to having a babe dulled all reaction.

His lower lip quivered as he nodded and gave loving strokes to her flat belly.

"We're having a babe?" Tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes, and she reached up to cup his face as he leaned down for a kiss.

"We're having a babe, my lady love," he whispered in a thick voice and pressed a kiss to her lips.


	51. Chapter 51

**Author's Note： Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to get back on track with writing on Fanfiction. :)**

 **I listened to Yours by Russell Dickerson for this chapter. It's one of my favorite chapters because we see Yours from Mark's perspective and then from Tanya's, both saving each other from themselves without quite realizing how deeply their love is growing until Grandmama speaks to it at the end.**

* * *

The hollow echo of nails going into the wood house frame echoed in the surrounding forest. If the outside could be built before the snowfall came, the winter months could be spent working on the inside...and be able to keep Tanya warm in her delicate condition, as well as Charles.

The late summer sun beat down on his bare back with intensity that rivaled the African deserts. Dragging an arm across his wet brow, he grabbed another nail and began hammering.

Pound, pound, pound. Another nail. Pound, pound, pound. Nail. Pound, pound, pound.

The hits drowned out all other sounds. Weight of the hammer slamming and arm and back muscles flexing only drove the anger. This hypnotizing rhythm welcomed unwanted memories from a week ago...

Pound, pound, pound. Pound, pound, pound...

 _"What do you mean the Elders are reconsidering the marriage?!"_

 _Tiger looked around and ushered him to the edge of the tribe for privacy. Regret filled Tiger's eyes. "There is still slaughter happening to the tribes farther West. The Elders do not like the white man but are trying to accept you, and they've seen you trying to keep up with the men and helping me care for our people. Tanya's situation, however, is being blamed on you - they're convinced it's white man's incompatibility with our people making her ill - "_

 _"You can goddamn tell them any woman can get severe morning sickness!" He jammed a finger against his own chest. "She has a feeding tube and is beginning to take broth by mouth - I'm doing everything I can to make sure she and the babe are sound! Her weight is coming back, and she's able to do everyday tasks without issue! Charles has transitioned to table food so as not to add more strain on her body! I'm going to build a goddamn cabin - that none of them will help me with - because she's not used to the sub-zero temperatures of America's winters! What the hell else am I supposed to be doing?!" He flung out his arm while leaning on a cane with the other._

 _"They are ignorant." Tiger set a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're taking care of her, and I'm trying to explain it to them. One of the Elders brought up divorce and bringing Bear back into things."_

 _"What?!" he roared._

 _"Hold on." Tiger held up his hands. "Bear was at the meeting and spoke up. He wants what's best for Tanya and knows she loves you. He said she's improving and asked if I agreed with your medical care. When I did, Bear said you have the same rights to her as any one of them have to their wives. Until you prove to not have her interest at heart, the marriage won't be dissolved. Plus, divorce can only be if you or Tanya do not stay under the same roof."_

 _"Oh, well I feel so much better - Bear and the Elders are simply waiting for the moment I slip to rip my family away from me." A deep, primal growl vibrated his chest. "I need a goddamn boxing ring to take out this anger would be damn helpful."_

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

"Mark!" a beautiful voice called.

Jerking his head up, the rage cooled upon seeing Tanya standing below with Charles on her hip.

A beautiful smile lit up her face as she waved and got Charles to copy the motion with his little fist. With the first trimesters of pregnancy over, she seemed to need the feeding tube less and less. Another few days, and she would be ready to have it removed. "Lunch is ready," she called.

Dropping the hammer to the dirt directly below, he held the beam he sat on and swung down, letting his legs buckle to land on his good knee so the prosthesis wouldn't break. Standing up, he brushed off his knees and hands and walked out to the front yard where they waited.

Her glorious, fairy-like laughter welcomed his kiss on the lips. "You should not be doing acrobatics until we know how well your leg can tolerate the prosthesis without a cane."

He grunted and then pecked a kiss on Charles's downy hair. "My leg is fine. You shouldn't be carrying around two babes." Taking Charles himself, he set a hand on the small of her back to go back to the tribe.

She sidestepped and held his hand instead on the walk back, her smile not fading. "Liar. I am well enough to carry him, and you are not using the cane out of pure stubbornness to try to prove the Elders wrong."

His eyes remained forward. "What are you babbling of, woman?"

"Grandfather told me what the Elders said last week. You've been a surly dragon ever since - I'm the only one brave enough to go near you. No one is going to steal us away from you. Besides, if the Elders even had the power to decree a divorce, you can sweep me away to the mountains." The wench gave a bold smile.

Clenching his teeth, he gave a long-winded growl. "Provoking a dragon isn't wise."

Others in the tribe found reason to avoid him and escape into their huts when he passed. She, however, simply giggled and stopped to stand on her toes and wrap her arms around his neck. "I like my dragon fierce and his fire hot."

"Wench, you aren't in any condition to withstand my wrath." The words rumbled in a husky snarl.

Pulling him down, she stopped a breath away. Her tongue darted out and gave a slow, agonizing caress across his bottom lip. "I'm perfectly fine; you're afraid of getting caught and being accused of not having my 'best interests' in mind." Then she let go and slipped Charles from him. "Grandmama wanted to feed him lunch."

* * *

"You don't hurt?" He reached up and stroked her hair from her face a bit later.

Profound happiness lit up her face as those brown eyes gazed down amid the field of wildflowers. "The babe and I are sound, even after your ravishings. You must not worry so much. No one could ever convince me to leave you."

His fingers bumped the feeding tube when he tucked the lock of hair behind her ear. Pride and happiness grew when self-consciousness didn't cloud her eyes. "I'd do anything for you," he whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too." Mischief sparkled in her gaze, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "It's been forever since we've played." She shot up and tugged her dress down in place. Then she dipped down and tapped his shoulder. "You're it!" The minx took off running, leaving her laughter to follow.

Pulling his pants shut, he stood and adjusted the prosthetic leg. His heart beat faster over her vivaciousness. The last time she'd been this playful had been at the rabid wolf attack.

She slowly backed up several yards away, clasping her hands under her chin and letting free a beautiful laugh. "Chase me!"

"I can't run!" he called but began walking in her direction. A smile threatened.

"I think you're lying, Dr. Johnson!" Her smile widened as she began taking faster steps backwards through the knee-high grasses and flowers.

"No," he chuckled, "I don't know if I can run on this."

A gust of wind blew across the field and pulled apart her braid. She tugged out the ribbon and shook her hair free, letting it blow around her face as she spun in circle with her arms outstretched and head thrown back. "Come get me!"

God, she was so alive and beautiful. Taking quicker steps that melted into a slow trot, his heart sped up in excitement when it didn't cause pain from the prosthesis. When she laughed and danced through the flowers, her intoxicating spell captured. He picked up speed.

The muse danced in abandon, letting her locks whip around as she shook her head and ran a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. Her movements weren't at all conventional like the slow, proper dances in England's ballrooms. Neither did they have the calculated rhythm of the tribal dances. She was as carefree as a child dancing to her own beat.

She shrieked in surprise when he grabbed her around the waist, bursting into laughter the moment he did. "Did it hurt to run?" Her arms wrapped around his neck as those radiant eyes turned up to him.

"No." A frown took hold as he shifted his weight onto the prosthetic and off again. "I didn't pay attention til now, but it feels cushier today." When her smile brightened, he eyed her. "Did you do something to it?"

"It is fortunate that I cannot cook over a fire. I tried to make porridge for Charles. It overcooked and took on a firm, yet squishy form. Curious, I added some other compounds I've read about in medical texts."

Sitting in the grasses, he pulled up the pant leg and disconnected the prosthetic from the straps connected to his thigh and waist to hold the leg on. Then he peered in the hollow cavity that she'd filled more and more with pads as muscle atrophy continued to shrink the thigh. Tilting the leg, a wad of opaque, gelatinous material fell out. The smooth, pliability of it would prevent ulcers, as well as continually conform to the stump to offer protection and comfort. "Tanya, this is ingenious." He turned it over and over. "The density is perfect."

She scooted closer, at some point having sat. "The only downside I can see is you'll need to take off your leg and wipe the inside mid-day being there is no cloth to wick away moisture on hot days."

"Yes, but it's worth it if it means no more ulcers." His eyes flew to her. "Would you make more? To line the entire cavity?"

* * *

"Ugh," his eyes rolled back as he stood in the hut a few hours later, "it feels so much better." The lumpiness of the pads was no longer there, and it was like walking on a pillow. It filled in for the missing muscle without taking up space like the pads, thereby not causing a limp and back pain from continuously changing leg heights until the atrophy stabilized.

When the woman leaned down and set her hands on his hips, she frowned. "It's still slightly too thick. Take it off. Don't argue - I know the pads were worse. I've been trying to figure out something else."

So she had noticed the uneven gait. No sense in being embarrassed about it now. Sitting on the bed, he pulled off the leg with a yank from suction. His eyes widened. "No." Shoving the leg on again, he stood and took a step without the straps connected. "It stays on by itself!"

She frowned in confusion and watched. The dear man hurried back to the bed.

Dropping down, he pulled off the leg and then yanked down his pants to reveal the cumbersome leather straps around his thigh and hips. They even looked uncomfortable. He practically snapped the straps in his hurry to get rid of them. Her heart broke as he jerked on the leg again and took a few steps. The gel was too dense, the risk of skin infection too great to leave it as is. Tears welled in realization that he hadn't thought of that...and didn't know he'd forever be confined to the heavy straps that bit in and left marks on his body.

That smile out the sun to shame. "Tanya, I - " The words died when he turned and looked at her.

"Mark, it can't be left like this. I filled it so we can mold it and then cut out sections. It doesn't have anywhere to breathe. It'll cause _Staph_ or other skin infections from moisture feeding bacteria." Stepping forward, she took his hand in comfort. And a tear fell to see his eyes grow misty as he nodded, looking so crestfallen.

His gaze dropped to her waist as his fingers fidgeted with hers and he forced a weak smile. "You're right. I got caught up and wasn't thinking." A tear trembled in the outer corner of his eye.

For a split instant, it hurt to even breathe. Squeezing his hand and cupping his cheek, she bowed her head to meet his moistened eyes. "I wish I could bear this for you. I wish I knew how to make it easier." Her lip quivered. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and pulled her into his arms. "This is not your fault. I'm thankful it's me instead of you. And you do make this easier in so many ways. Sometimes I just get overwhelmed. In a few years, we'll know every single quirk about it, and it'll just be part of every day life. It's still new and frustrating. We'll figure it out." He rested his cheek atop her head.

Simply holding each other helped heal some of the pain.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle and peaceful. "Is that why you've been rubbing my back in bed lately? You noticed my gait was off?"

"It wasn't enough to see it, but your brow furrows slightly more in concentration when you walk. When you don't think anyone is looking, you roll your shoulders and lean side to side like your back hurts." The calm drumming of his heart under her cheek only added to the intimacy of being in a private world where self-consciousness and humiliation couldn't exist among so much love. "Telling me that you're having trouble doesn't make you less of a man in my eyes. Or a burden," she added when he took a breath to speak.

"We've only been wed eleven months - less than that with the fake divorce. I'm still learning how to have a wife who is a partner."

She leaned back in his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "There is no 'learning how to' anything. You have a backache from your leg not fitting properly, so you say, 'Wife, I need a back rub, and we need a new technique for my leg.' If your self-confidence is shaken by the Elders questioning if you're good enough, you say, 'Wife, come to bed and remind me that you want to grow old with me.' It's really quite simple, Mark."

One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. "That simple? Next you'll tell me that I worry like an old woman."

"Well..." When his mouth dropped open, speechless, she pulled out of his arms and covered her mouth with her hands in playful laughter. "You do enough worrying for both of us, so..."

"Come, wench," he growled and caught her arm to pull her against him. He glanced at Charles still napping on the pallet, and then back at her. "Come remind me that you want to grow old with me." Those strong arms wrapped around her waist, his voice falling to a deep, gentle timber.

A warm smile came from the depths of her soul as she linked her hands behind his neck and fell into those calm blue orbs looking back at her with love. "I would chose no one else, my cuddle bear who has become a dragon," she whispered and welcomed his kiss.

* * *

"He's very handsome, but he has such a temper," one of the women whispered to another in native tongue at the stream on laundry day. "She doesn't seem afraid of him and never has bruises. He's been in a temper for two weeks. I asked him if he needed the Medicine Man when he walked past yesterday with his bloody hand wrapped from cutting himself building one of those white man homes. He answered in white man tongue, but I think I'm glad I don't know what he said because he looked like he would've eaten my head."

"I know," the other woman answered. "I don't think he'd hurt anyone, but I don't want to speak to him when he's in a fit. She walks right up to him and even hugs when he's in the middle of a rant. Sometimes I wonder if she's right in the head. But then, he also seems to calm when she does that. They're an odd pair."

Silence for a moment. She glanced from the corner of her eye to where the other women washed laundry in a group, and she remained alone on the outskirts.

Another one of the women standing in the stream studied her. "I see why he chose her - the English women I've seen look like all the blood has been sucked from them. She's not as dark as us but has the delicate bones of the English. I think she's pretty."

Her heart beat faster. Perhaps Mark did truly see beauty.

The two other women stared at the other. "I think she looks odd - she's a half-breed, and it's apparent."

"I feel sorry for her. She doesn't fit in with us or the English," the second joined in. "And she has no sense of propriety, as if she grew up in the wild with wolves."

Bowing her head in shame, she furiously scrubbed the last nappie to get home as fast as possible.

"I feel sorry for those who are so unkind as to find fault with and not welcome one who has done nothing but try to be accepted," an older, elegant female voice spoke.

Looking up, she stilled to see Grandmama standing over the women with a disapproving frown.

The other women muttered apologies and bowed their heads at a scolding from an Elder's wife.

Before Grandmama could make it over, she scooped up the basket of wet laundry and hurried away. A couple of the older girls adored Charles, so she left him for now to continue playing with them and the other children. Brushing at her eyes, she headed in the opposite direction of the hut to where Mark was building the cabin half way to town.

The women were right - she fit in no better here than in England. Always a half-breed, never belonging anywhere. Mark suffered prejudices here. At least living in town it would only be her segregated. Charles looked English enough that he could be passed off as Mark's child from a former marriage. The baby hopefully would take on his characteristics. It was better to live in town and be seen as his slave than stay and both struggle with prejudices. Her lip quivered as the tears came faster. He'd be forced to see her lack of desirable physical attributes, but he was a man who would still love for what lay beneath.

He stood on the porch, with his back to her, nailing up walls on the bare framework.

The hurt swelled, needing the safety of his arms now that he was in sight. Dropping the heavy basket, she ran across the dirt road as the sobs burst free.

It must've caught his attention because he turned in surprise just in time to catch her throw herself at him.

"Tanya? What's wrong?" He tried to pull her back to meet her eyes, but she clung, unable to speak through the sobs. "Did someone harm you?"

She shook her head.

"Is Charles alright?"

A nod.

"The babe?"

Again, she nodded.

So he held tight until the sobs calmed to hiccups. "Tell me what happened, my lady love."

Once she relayed the events that caused renewed tears, she pushed away from him. "Why do you keep trying to tell yourself I'm pretty?! Why do you keep lying?!"

Sadness softened his face and he remained quiet, as if realizing the storm needed to pass before any words would be heard.

"If we live in town, you won't be forced to jump through hoops just because you're a white man! Charles can be passed off as yours from another marriage, and," she cried and set a hand on her belly, "God willing the babe will look white too!" Setting her hand to her forehead, her face crumpled from the panic. "No one will question their parentage if I'm hidden in confinement once I start to look pregnant. Tell them I'm your slave - "

Mark stepped forward and guided her hands away to hold his. "You're the mother of my children, and I won't have them growing up to believe otherwise. I won't move us to town where you'll learn to be ashamed of yourself even more than in England."

"But - "

"Quiet, wife," he said gently. "Do these women's opinions matter more than mine?"

"No."

The pad of his thumb swept away another tear. "Then why do you choose to favor their opinion of you over mine? Do you believe me to ever be untruthful with you?"

Pressing her lips together and bowing her head at the sting of fresh tears, she clutched his hands tighter. "Because you were blind to Anna's failings for so long." Raising her eyes to gauge his hurt and realization of that truth, another tear fell. Perhaps facing that would open his eyes to what herself truly was.

But his patient expression didn't change. "Tell me what you see that you think I don't."

Swallowing hard, he blurred behind welling tears. "A half-breed who is too heathen even for a tribe's convention."

His brow furrowed. 'Where on earth did you learn 'half-breed'?"

That part of the story had been too humiliating to repeat until now.

Such a fierce scowl wrinkled his brow. He remained silent for several moments, with his jaw muscles visibly clenched even through his short beard. Then he grabbed her hand and marched across the field.

"Mark?"

His determined, quick pace didn't slow as he entered the tribe and stormed straight to the center where most everyone gathered on this day of rest for all. Every pair of eyes turned to them, but he didn't seem the least embarrassed. Then he turned and pulled her against him, giving a passionate, scandalous display of affection.

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, but it was impossible to not feel the pleasurable warmth spreading from her heart to realize that he truly thought her beautiful and didn't give a wit about what others thought of her because he saw a woman he was proud of.

Then he grabbed her hand and stormed toward the kind woman from the stream. "You who said she pretty?" he asked in broken native tongue.

When the woman stared with wide eyes at him and nodded, he added, "Come." He grabbed her arm and tugged both of them along, ignoring the gasps and whispers of a non-relation man speaking to a woman, much less touching her. Then he set them both before Grandmama and Grandfather standing at the edge of the gathering. "Lily, help them become friends. Sunflower speaks highly of Tanya whenever I help Tiger with her daughter's colic. Those women destroyed what was left of her self-confidence in making friends."

Grandmama tried to suppress a smile and kept her quiet, regal posture. Grandfather looked uncertain what to do. "You realize that you've just created several scandals." Grandmama's tone didn't hold censure or condescension.

"How is Tanya to understand convention if her husband thumbs his nose at it?" He turned on his heel and left, just as brusquely as he'd come.

Grandfather's jaw practically dropped.

Grandmama set a delicate finger to her lips and cleared her throat, clearly trying not to laugh as she watched Mark storm toward the cabin. "Your husband does not hesitate to make a spectacle of himself in order to help you."

"He gives me so much, Grandmama," she said quietly. "More sacrifices that he must make because of me," she breathed in shame.

"No more than you do for him. Besides, love does not see it as sacrifice. The man was almost in tears the other week when he told me that you'd figured out a way for him to run, and you're close to finding a way for him to not need the leg straps. Do you not see it, Tanya?"

She frowned and looked in question at Grandmama.

Those wise, kind eyes shined with happiness. "He's already proven that he'd given up everything and follow you to the ends of the earth, without a moment of regret. You think him blind, but he sees your soul in ways that you cannot yet. That's a man who worships the ground you walk on because he believes with his whole heart that - flaws and all - you're worth walking through Hell for."

"He does not worship the ground I walk on," she whispered, the declaration filled with doubt for the first time.

"Are you certain about that? How ironic that you both fear not being good enough. Yet, you both bring out the best in each other and are loved by the other with depth that withstands even death."

She turned to watch Mark walk down the road.

"Tanya?"

Pulled out of the daydream, she turned to Grandmama, who stood with Sunflower a bit away and waited. A knowing smile touched Grandmama's lips. "Are you coming? We shall have lunch with Sunflower and all get to know each other better."

Sunflower gave a shy smile and held out a hand of encouragement.

"Yes, I'm coming." With one final glance over her shoulder as Mark disappeared past the trees, she hurried over and took Sunflower's hand to follow through the throng of children who ran past, with Charles happily screeching in a wagon that Mark had made for him to be pulled in by the children.


	52. Chapter 52

Mark slipped into the hut well after dark, again spending long hours working on the cabin. "Good evening." He headed straight for a towel and fresh pantaloons.

She looked up from where she laid Charles down to sleep. "Hello." Her heart sped up as memories of Grandmama's words flashed.

"Did you have a nice afternoon?" He fished the soap out of a basket.

"We did. Sunflower is so nice, and her daughter is only a bit older than Charles. He liked to stare at her while she practiced walking." She smiled, but he continued to keep his eyes on hunting for a rag. "How was your afternoon?"

"I got the outer wall up on the front first story of the cabin." His words came out weary, as if all the manual labor and looming deadline of winter had begun to take a toll on him. "I'm going to wash." Then he slipped out.

The smile faded. A glance under the cot revealed the crutches were gone. She followed him out.

Stopping in surprise, she blinked to see him sitting outside the hut with the prosthesis propped beside him. Even the firelight couldn't mask the red irritation at the end of his leg from the prosthetic.

He glanced up with a dark glare.

Before she could kneel to talk, he struggled up on the crutches like it was a weakness to be caught without the prosthesis. Apparently he hadn't thought about how he'd carry everything on crutches because he stared down at the items. "Goddammit," he whispered at being trapped.

Without a word, she slipped inside and returned with a satchel. With all the items stacked in the bag, she slipped the strap over his head and one shoulder.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"I'm not going to lecture you about needing to build up your skin's tolerance before wearing the prosthesis all day - you're a physician and know that. But I will say that in a year, no one will remember if you were stubborn...but the babies and I will always remember if you died because you chose stubbornness over us." She stroked his trim beard. "We count on you to take care of your leg. You know that I wish you'd let me help so it isn't such a burden."

"If you had a man like Bear, there wouldn't be burdens," he snapped.

A soft smile tugged. "There are always burdens. Grandmama said something today, and it made me realize that I need friends so I have others to go to when there's a problem instead of putting all the burden on you - "

He stared a moment and then dropped his gaze. "A good husband should shoulder his wife's burdens."

"No, that is what Anna taught you. This doesn't mean I don't need you. Having a woman to discuss things with gives a different perspective than a man. And you should foster friendships too. I think it will make our marriage stronger to not be each other's sole support system."

He seemed to chew on that.

"Furthermore - "

"There's more." It came out as a statement, and not enthusiastic at that.

"Yes. Furthermore, I'm your wife, and I let you help me nearly daily try to avoid mastitis. You can certainly suck it up and accept help with your leg. It does not make you less of a husband, father or man, so you will cease this nonsense."

One black eyebrow rose in a perfect, aristocratic arc of challenge. Even in the moonlight, a flush of anger rose up his neck. "Is that so? I suppose you'll dare to say that there's no need to build you a cabin or that you aren't ashamed your husband can't 'keep up' with the other men - "

She silenced him with a kiss. Cupping his jaw in her hands, she pulled back just enough to see his surprised expression. "If you insist that I should be ashamed of you for your leg, then I have all rights to insist that you should be ashamed of a half-breed, Injun wife."

"Do _not_ call yourself that," he hissed and jerked her wrists down, holding tight. Sparks of rage shot from his gaze, as his eyes darted back and forth to glare into each of hers.

"That's my point, Mark," she said softly. "Maybe it's time to stop listening to others and start believing each other."

He dropped her wrists.

Charles's wail broke the silence.

With one last glance, she left.

Picking up Charles, she walked him inside the hut. "Are you too hot, love? You're all sweaty. It's a hot night, isn't it? Shhhh."

The door flap pulled back and Mark stood there on the crutches. "Come down to the stream. You both need to cool off." He held out a hand.

Grabbing towels, she walked beside Mark.

Charles looked around in curiosity at a howl echoing in the mountains.

"Do you hear that, my boy? That's a wolf."

Charles's big gray eyes fixated on Mark hobbling alongside on crutches.

"Keep an eye out. We must protect the womenfolk." He gave a small smile to Charles.

The babe rested his head on her shoulder and chewed on the neckline of her dress.

"Are you getting another tooth? All he's wanted to do today is chew." She eased the dress away from him, enjoying this moment of peace together as a family.

Mark slipped off the satchel at the embankment and sat. Taking Charles in his lap, he darted a finger in the little mouth. "Ouch!" His hand jerked out. "I'd say two teeth are almost through. I've a new hide rag you can chew when we get home, my boy." Then he pulled off his pantaloons before removing the prosthesis straps.

She sat and freed Charles of his clothes. Squeals of excitement pierced the night air, and the babe tried to crawl away.

When her dress tugged from the left, she glanced at Mark.

"Bathe with me," he said in a husky tone and pulled off her dress.

Shame didn't cloud his eyes that night.

* * *

Shots fired. Screams echoed. Smoke filled the air.

Mark whipped out of bed and rustled in the dark.

It must be nearly morning. She scurried to him, her heart slamming at the violent awakening. The haze of just a couple hours of sleep only added to the confusion of what was happening.

Mark had the prosthesis on in record time.

Charles wailed from his pallet.

"Keep him quiet," Mark breathed and snatched up the baby before she had time to react. Then Mark grabbed her hand.

Shouts of English.

Her heartbeat stumbled. Soldiers?

One glance at Mark's face confirmed the nightmare - soldiers had come to round up or slaughter the Natives.

"Hide in the field grasses and make your way to the woods," he whispered.

"But Grandfath - "

"Do it," he hissed and locked eyes for a split moment. That moment was all it took to read the terror in his eyes - terror that this was a massacre. He pulled her out of the hut.

Huts burned across the landscape, the painful heat of the fire tride to blister flesh. Soldiers on horses trampled fallen friends. Blood bathed the grasses. Mutilated bodies were like logs fallen at every turn. Charles's screams couldn't be heard over the dozens of others. This...this was hell.

Mark used the smoke to hide as he pulled her through the tribe that now was like upturned burial grounds.

Grandmama and Grandfather were nowhere in sight.

At the edge of the tribe, Mark shoved her and Charles down hard to the ground in the field. Suddenly, he was gone running in the opposite direction.

"Shoot him!" A soldier yelled.

She rolled over, holding a hand over Charles's wails to keep from being discovered, and peeked above the waist-high grasses.

Mark stood not far away and raised his hands. Three soldiers surrounded him with guns aimed.

Then it dawned - Mark had seen them coming and had made himself the diversion.

"I'm English," Mark stated.

The soldiers stilled. Apparently they thought twice about shooting a white man. And Mark knew it.

One of them moved closer. "His eyes are blue. Why are you here with these heathens?"

She moved to crawl through the grass, but more horse hooves trembled the ground.

Pain tore through her scalp, suddenly being hauled up by the hair. A scream of agony ripped out as she grabbed her hair with one hand to keep it from tearing out and clutched to hold onto Charles with her other. Warmth trickled down the back of her neck.

"No!" Mark yelled.

The four soldiers near Mark aimed guns at him, and the three surrounding her pulled out knives.

"She's my woman!" Mark blurted. "I have slave papers! I came across these lands and bought her. The child is mine - I bought her to raise him after my wife died."

"Looks like that's not all you've done with her," one of the men snickered and eyed the small swell of her belly. "Take the baby to him."

A drop of warm blood inched down her shoulder, and terrible pain throbbed at the back of her head.

One of the soldiers ripped Charles from her arms, jerking her head and a scream of pain from her lips.

"She's my property!" The panic in Mark's voice escalated as he took Charles and inched steps closer.

The leader got off his horse and stepped up to her. "Filthy heathen carries your bastard, you mean." He removed the cigar from his mouth and tapped it. Ashes fluttered to the ground, revealing the burning red end. It slowly came closer and closer, the guards holding her arms and another clamping a hand around her jaw to keep her head immobilized. The leader smiled as the red hot end approached her cheek.

"No!" Mark charged and tackled the leader.

A battle cry filled the air and the ground trembled from hundreds of hooves.

Everyone froze.

Hundreds of buffalo ran over the hill, heading straight for the tribe. Wolf, Grandfather and Bear rode behind on horses, steering the herd.

Mark used the distraction and grabbed her hand, running toward the soldiers with the guns.

Oh god, Charles. Mark must've left him in the grasses.

Guns fired. Chaos erupted. The boom of hooves against the earth drowned out all other noise. Mark jerked her down and curled up on top of her and Charles as buffalo stampered and jumped over him.

An odd pain radiated in her chest.

The thunder gradually quieted. The ground stilled.

Mark sat up and looked down at her. His face paled sheet white. "Tiger! She's been shot!"

* * *

She blinked as everything came into focus and looked around. An infirmary. Moans of agony filled the small clinic of five beds.

Grandfather and an older man wearing a stethoscope moved about attending to the injured Natives scattered on the floor too.

"Sweetheart." Mark's voice. He hurried over from where he was attending to the person in bed to the right, and took her hand. "How do you feel?"

"Tingly."

"That's the anesthesia wearing off. You were shot, and we had to do surgery to get the bullet out. It was against your rib, so you might have a rib fracture too."

"Babe?" It was hard to put coherent thoughts together.

"Charles is alright, and the babe seems sound. Can you breathe alright?" He set a stethoscope to her chest.

"Grandmama?"

"Right here." The voice came from the right.

Grandmama laid in bed, pale but smiling. She reached out a hand and took hers.

"We found her inside a burning hut. She has some burns, but she should make a full recovery." Mark moved the stethoscope. "Can you take a deep breath? Go slow in case your rib is cracked."

She breathed in until it began to hurt...in her breast.

"Good, sweetheart."

With a frown, she looked down to see a bandage over her breasts.

He scooted closer and spoke quietly. "The bullet went through your breast. I think the scar tissue helped keep it from reaching your rib." Sadness filled his eyes. "While I was in there, I found the spot that keeps getting mastitis. It was a milk duct damaged from the attack. Mastitis can be fatal, and it's almost every day that we're trying to battle it."

"How bad?" She whispered as he blurred behind tears. She pulled up the sheet to her chin.

His hand caught hers. "You shouldn't be able to tell much of a difference through clothes." Then he leaned down and kissed away the tears. "You're beautiful to me no matter what. I just want you healthy."

That was a gentle way of saying more deformity. "But you'll know." Her lip quivered.

"Just like you know that three-quarters of my leg is missing," he whispered. "I'll only worship you more." Then he pressed a kiss to her brow.

Such a terrible headache set in as the numbness wore off. She reached up. A bandage wrapped around hER head.

Mark looked on the verge of losing his stomach and eased her hand away. "You have some stitches where your scalp tore from where they pulled your hair. The scar will be hidden in your hair." Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you."

"You did," she whispered. It grew impossible to stay awake.

"Right now you need to rest."

* * *

That evening, she looked around the clinic that held all that was left of the tribe. Two more beds had been freed after grave injuries had claimed their victims.

Mark came over with a bowl of stew and Charles.

Grandfather sat on the edge of Grandmama's bed with a bowl and helped Grandmama eat.

He helped her recline higher. The movement caused a throbbing headache. "Where do we stay?"

Mark gave Charles a piece of the meat to chew on and then helped her situate to eat.

Grandfather exchanged a glance with Mark. "I'm going to stay here during the days to care for you two while Mark works on finishing the roof. The inside walls are just bones, but it will be shelter enough for now."

"What about the others?" Less than a dozen of the tribe remained.

"Bear is going to lead them to another tribe north," Mark answered.

"But we cannot stay here. They will be back," Grandmama added.

"Out East they were not as familiar with the looks of our people." Grandfather held her gaze. "Mark has an established following of patients at the lumberyard."

Her eyes flew to him. "The lumberyard? But you hated it - " Pain exploded through her head at that outburst.

"Enough," Mark said firmly and set a cold compress over her brow. "We will move back once you and your grandmother are strong enough." One of the men began moaning in pain, so Mark handed Charles to Grandfather and headed over.

She looked to them, gasping in a breath as the back of her tender head rubbed against the pillow. Squinting at Grandfather, she held his eyes. "His confidence suffered so much there. He can't go back - "

Grandfather set a hand over her bare arm. "He wired the lumberyard. The physician there isn't skilled, and the man who was to take your house passed away. The house is built and empty, and Mark can build his own practice on the outskirts of the lumberyard."

"But - "

"Granddaughter, he has had time to adjust to the amputation and find himself. This is the best chance for all of us."

She looked to Grandmama, who was already asleep. Going back to where the amputation had begun didn't seem like a good idea. Mark didn't need to go back to dealing with Mr. Price, either.

* * *

"It hurts to straighten," she panted the next day and clutched his hand.

"Let your shoulders hunch for a few days. You have a delicate frame, so there wasn't much there to work with. It won't hurt in a few days for the skin to stretch." He loaned her a pair of his pants and a shirt to avoid confining clothes yet.

She gave him a look as he helped her shuffle out to the porch to sit in the sun for a bit. "You're saying I'm not well endowed." Stumbling a step, she gasped in pain when her arm jerked trying to hold onto him tighter. The stumble jerked the headache awake again too.

"Let me worry about catching you." He held tight about the waist. "It must be the babe leaving you this dizzy - you've never reacted like this to anesthesia."

"She's telling you that we didn't want surgery." Wiping away the tears of pain, she nodded to keep going to the rocking chair he'd set out on the porch of the infirmary.

"I'll carry you back inside. We just need you to move around a bit so you don't get blood clots." Once she sat, he fussed and made her comfortable.

A townswoman approached with some kind of dish in her hands.

Mark shot to his feet and put himself between them.

"I'm Mrs. Barnes, the merchant's wife. I run a restaurant on the other side of town. You're Dr. Johnson?" She glanced at Mark's leather pants and bare chest, her cheeks a bit red. "I heard of the attack. I made a casserole to get folks well."

Mark stepped forward and accepted the dish. "Thank you. We ran out of food rations last night."

The stew - Mark and Grandfather hadn't eaten but given their portions to her, Charles and Grandmama.

"I don't know much about the Injun folks, but they've never caused us trouble. Doesn't seem like the neighborly thing to do to not lend a God-helping hand in a time of need."

"Native American. We appreciate it, ma'm," he said, adopting the American way of address. Curiously, he identified himself with the 'Injun folks.'

"You look tired. Mrs. Atwood, the blacksmith's wife, and I have helped the doctor attend to the ill and injured during mining accidents. Do you and the doctor need help?"

His shoulders seemed to sag in relief. "That would be wonderful. The three of us can't keep up with everyone's round-the-clock care. Let me grab the doctor and my grandfather-in-law." He turned and set a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be right back. Mrs. Barns. My wife," he stated, giving quick introductions.

Awkward silence fell when Mark disappeared inside. Mrs. Barnes openly stared. "Are you an Injun? You don't quite look like the others."

Her face burned in embarrassment. "Half."

"Oh."

Mark stepped out with the doctor and Grandfather, who took over discussion with Mrs. Barnes while he attended to her.

The townspeople readily welcomed Mark as an assisting physician. Grandfather and the rest of the tribe were met with tolerance. Over the next hours, hushed word spread that the womenfolk weren't allowed to touch the 'wild, heathen' men. Mark seemed too busy to notice, or perhaps attributed it to propriety.

When Mark asked Mrs. Barnes to help take her to the surgery room to change the bandage, the woman hesitated for a moment before touching her hand.

"I'm fine," she insisted to Mark.

"You're pale and unsteady. My leg aches, and I don't trust it to carry you." He helped her stand.

Vision faded and her knees buckled.

"Tanya!" He grabbed the hospital bed headboard and shifted for a slow fall onto the bed to avoid tearing the stitches.

"Oh goodness!" Mrs. Barnes cried in the distance.

"Tanya? Tanya?"

Blinking hard made spots of vision return. Then a rancid smell shot everything into focus.

Mrs. Barnes waved smelling salts under her nose. "There. Goodness, you gave Dr. Johnson a scare." The woman looked shaken herself.

"Mrs. Barnes, create a path to surgery. Tanya, I'm checking to make sure the babe is still sound."

The woman followed as he laid her on the surgery table. "Did you give her the medicine in the brown bottle? With the white label?"

"Yes, she had surgery yesterday." He palpated the baby through her clothes.

"Injuns can't tolerate that kind."

His head whipped around to Mrs. Barnes. "What?"

"The doctor uses that one on us. He uses the white one on Injuns because they get so dizzy. She doesn't exactly look Injun, so maybe Doc didn't realize."

"What other reaction does it cause?" He began a full exam.

"I think just dizziness. Should I get the Doc?"

"Yes."

"The babe." Gulping in air only helped marginally to hold in the tears as panic welled.

"I know. She'll be alright." His demeanor came off so calm and professional - the manner that he only took on when trying to not show his fear. "I need you to stay calm so the babe gets enough air. Deep breaths." He slipped the stethoscope under the shirt and listened to the babe. "Her heart rate is good."

The town physician hurried in with a glass of blue liquid just as Mark finished a full exam of the babe. "I thought you knew."

"I know nothing of Native American reactions. What are you giving?" He whipped around and hovered as they talked and she drank the liquid.

"Mrs. Johnson, you have to tell us if you start to have any muscle weakness."

"Why would she have muscle weakness?" Mark pounced.

"It's a side effect of the anesthesia that can take a few days to set in. This is the antedote that should kick in before full body paralysis."

"What?!"

Grandfather rushed in with other herbs. "These will help stop early labor."

"Labor?! Somebody tell me what the hell kind of reaction is happening!" Mark looked ready to kill someone.

"We'll tell you once we get her through this. You'll be alright," Grandfather promised. "It might make you sleepy, but it's safe for the babe."

She grabbed Mark's hand as she took the herbs.

He leaned over the table and stroked her hair. "You'll both be fine, sweetheart."

"Mmaaarr..." His name refused to form minutes later.

"That's normal. It'll wear off in a bit. You just sleep through it," Grandfather promised. "Her reflexes will slow, but her blood pressure will stabilize. This will prevent labor from trying to start from the antidote," he whispered to Mark.

That was the last thing remembered.

"My wife was almost tortured and killed. We are not staying." Mark's harsh hiss cut through the drugged haze. "As soon as she's well, we're going back East."

East at the lumberyard was were he'd lost his independence and himself. It was where life with him had threatened to fall apart. It was where the end of everything perfect waited for destruction. Her hand tightened around the strong, familiar fingers still holding hers. "No," she whispered and forced her eyes open.

Mark came into focus, looking a decade older in the surgery room than when she'd fallen asleep. "Shhh, rest."

"We can't keep moving. This is home."

He ran a hand over his face. "We'll talk about this when you're feeling better." He looked at Grandfather, who walked over with a glass of water. The moment Grandfather was at her side, Mark walked out the back door. Heaving could be heard.

"We think the headaches were partly due to a bulging hematoma on your scalp at the incision. Mark drained it while you were sleeping." He set a hand on her arm, his eyes wet with emotion. "He's upset. Your scalp tore away from your skull. He gave you a transfusion yesterday because of the blood loss." A tear rolled down his weathered cheek. "He's sickened and scared because I think they intended to scalp you. None of it will show once healed, but it looks very terrible right now."

Resting a hand over her belly, she drew a steadying breath. "The babe is alright, though?"

He nodded.

* * *

"How is the headache?" Mark asked the next morning and unwrapped her head in the privacy of the surgery room.

"It's more tolerable." Biting her lip in embarrassment, her fingers curled around the lip of the exam table as he tossed the bandages in the trash.

Silence. He stood behind and very gently fingered her scalp. His fingers easily reached. "Is it too painful anymore?"

"Did you cut my hair?" The words came out tiny and self-conscious.

Gentle lips reached around and brushed a kiss over her cheek. "An infection so close to the brain is dangerous. I only cut what I had to. It will grow back. In the meantime, we can fix your hair so it won't show."

"Can I see?"

"It's better to wait until next week once the sutures are out and it's healed a bit more." He picked up a fresh gauze on the tray to the left and dabbed. "It's a bit red here. I'll pack a poultice on it today to prevent infection. Let me get your grandfather to help because I need another hand."

When he left, she grabbed the silver tray and a medical instrument to use as mirrors.

He had swept aside the hair cascading down from the top of her head. At the back middle of her scalp, a jagged black map of sutures, in an odd horseshoe shape, wove through shaved hair. An area the size of two palms had been shaved. Blood red and blue bruises covered a large lump where the tissue had swelled from being ripped from the skull.

Heavy footsteps entered the room. "Tanya." His voice croaked. "It's only temporary." His heavy tread hurried around the table, and he lowered her hands. "Look at me."

Tears blurred him. "I want to see how bad my breast looks."

"Fine, but listen to me first." He set aside the tray and instrument to take her hands in his. "Your hair will hide the scars. This is only for a few weeks until your hair grows back. I need you to believe me that I don't care about your scalp or breast scars." His voice broke, and he cupped her face in his hands.

Her face crumpled as she put her good arm around his neck to pull him closer for a hug. When she let go, he gingerly unbandaged the surgical site.

* * *

A month later, he stood up on the prosthesis in the bedroom of their home on the outskirts of the lumberyard. It was ironic that it wasn't him who suffered self-confidence this time, but herself.

She sat up in bed after helping him with his leg, just like every morning the past week since arriving. Just like every morning, she remained silent as he helped with the stretches to aid in arm mobility from the worsened scar.

As a surgeon, he'd done a beautiful job with the reconstruction and little tissue he'd had to work with. As a husband, he'd made a decision for her, although it was his legal right, to choose further deformity over dealing with daily mastitis risk. The plump breast pad insert the seamstress had made in England no longer hid the gap in the proper American blouses. At least the Native American deerskins had been thick enough to not need the breast prosethesis. Hatred for the two blouses in the closet grew blacker each day.

So lost in the daydream was she that the feel of a bare hand cupping the deformity startled awake anger and disgust. Wiout even thinking, she slapped the intruding hand.

Breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened as they flew to his. Her hand still stung from delivering the instinctual reprimand.

His startled blue eyes held hers as he snatched his hands away. Confusion and then guilt shrouded his gaze as he turned away and walked over to the dresser. He kept his back to her as he buttoned up his shirt. Only the slight tremor in his hands revealed how much her reaction had shocked and stung him.

Pulling the nightgown closed in shame, she swallowed hard in surprise to see her own hands shaking. "I'm sorry. I was daydreaming, and your touch frightened me."

Smoothing down his neckcollar, he quietly replied without turning. "That was a reaction of hatred, not fright." He drew a shaky breath and turned, his eyes full of pain, anger, guilt and grief. "Say it," he commanded. "We both know you think it, so be goddamn honest with me and say it!"

She got up and grabbed her shawl to leave the room, emotions again shutting down to keep out the darkness.

"Yes, walk away, just like you've been doing since you saw what I had to do to you! Goddamn shut me out because God forbid you be human and admit you hate me for it!"

Her face crumpled in anguish and rage, fiercely fighting to keep from saying the horrid words no matter how true. She reached for the doorknob.

"Say it! I mutilated your breast worse! I'm the reason why you won't leave the house! I'm the reason it's more difficult to breastfeed our son! Admit that you hate me!" he practically screamed, as if begging for the damnation.

So much anger and pain bottled up for the past month whirled up all at once that she spun around and finally exploded. "I hate you for doing this to me! I had no choice! You decided for me that temporary struggles with mastitis were worse than cutting out what was hardly left!"

The release of that terrible evil and guilt and pain to force him to bear it instead forced her to her knees. Clutching her hands over her mouth failed to take back the horrible words, and sobs consumed.

He silently knelt, with tears streaming down his face. "And I am so sorry it happened the way it did. But each week you'd get a worse infection. I was right there already, and to have opened you twice - "

Shaking her bowed head, she reached out and clutched his hand. "I know you had to." Burying her face in one hand to try to control the sobs she hiccuped, "I don't know why I hate you..."

"Because it's a normal reaction to feel betrayed. The swelling finally subsided, and we're seeing just how extensive even minimal excision affected it. Hate me, regret me, hit me...anything but indifference," he begged. "I don't want you trying so hard to deal with it by yourself that you shut down."

"All you see is a pregnancy, head wound and breast deformity!" She jerked her hands out of his, choking on the sobs.

Silence filled the pause, as if he understood the need for the anger to be released before healing could begin. Then quiet gentleness filled his voice. "I kiss and hold you because I love you. I haven't made love to you because you were injured and your migraines are finally going away. I will touch you sexually when you're ready for that."

Bowing her head, her face crumbled as sobs of sadness escaped, not even fully understanding these consuming, percolating emotions herself yet. But she stepped into his arms and buried her face against his chest, guiding his hand through the open nightdress to her bare breast and the other to her shorn hair and scars. Great sobs exploded, muffled by his chest, as she clung to him.

He sniffled and bowed his lips to her ear. "I love you and still believe you're the most beautiful woman. You're so strong - stronger than I'll ever be. We're going to get through this."

* * *

"Have you asked her, my lord, if she's frightened of white men?" Brigands voice carried up the stairs later that morning when she was bringing down Charles. "They left you alone because you were white, yet they were going to torture her for her heritage. She was scorned before, but she experienced violence of racism for the first time. Traveling back here, she remained glued to your side. Whenever we passed officers on the train or elsewhere, she kept her head down and tried to put you between her and them. My lord, she survived a trauma none of the rest of us have experienced."

Her hand tightened on the railing, with her feet anchored to the top step. Brigands had put a name to these new, strange emotions. Racism wasn't something new, but never had it dawned that there were some who would kill her because of it.

The step creaked as she shifted to hold Charles when he began to squirm.

Mark came around the corner and looked up. "Is that why you've pushed me away? You're afraid I'm ashamed of you? I've told you - "

Her eyes fell to the floor, feeling so naked and vulnerable but unable to find enough courage to move.

He made the laborious ascent up the stairs, one step at a time.

Taking a step back when he reached for her, she met his eyes full of confusion. "I am more worthless to them than trash. How many scars will it take for you to understand what they see?"

He came up the final step and gazed down as he stroked her cheek. "I see the scars, real and invisible. But you hung the moon and stars for me. I hear what they see, but never will I understand it. That is the beauty of love, Tanya. Just as you love me more because of my leg, I love you more because of your scars. You are so fiercely strong and intelligent and kind and beautiful."

Charles screeched in frustration of wanting to get down and play.

"Come." He took Charles to Brigands and then led her to the back of the house to their bedchamber.

"I'll be gentle, but this is long overdue." He yanked open her dress and took her deformity in his mouth.

A gasp of revulsion and pleasure broke the silence. But, it was the need for his love that made her bury her hands in his hair.

He guided her hand down to touch him through his clothes. "I desire you. The fact that I can show you pleasure within something you hate shows me how much you actually trust me. The fact that you would never let even a physician touch your breast, but you give yourself to me excites a primal need in me," he growled deep in his chest as he somehow made love to her breast.

She shuddered and clung to keep her knees from buckling. "Take me," she begged.

"After you reach the heavens without me touching between your thighs."

"What?" She panted and squirmed in raw desire as he pressed her up against the wall. "It's not possible."

"If I bathe you in enough love and trust, your mind will find pleasure and your body will follow. I give myself to you. Surrender to me, my lady love. I love you with my whole heart."


	53. Chapter 53

He glanced from the table where he held Charles in his lap as she cooked lunch with Teresa. It was a dark, smoldering glance that made her toes curl in anxiousness for bedtime.

The man was a passionate lover who didn't seem to care about the time of day - when the need to make love overcame him, he succumbed to it. Such a thing wasn't at all proper, but there was never a reason to want to deny him.

Anna must not have been very loving to have shamed him for trying to be romantic in daylight. She scowled at the thought of the woman who hadn't appreciated such a wonderful man.

A large hand cupped her entire belly, and a hard chest pressed to her back. Charles appeared to the right in Mark's arms and babbled.

"What's on your mind? A blushing bride one minute, and then scowling and stirring the soup like the devil the next." His low, intimate tone vibrated his chest against her back, and he pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

"Mark," she scolded in embarrassment and glanced at the table. Brigands and Teresa must've left.

"They took the lemonade out to the porch. Teresa once had a new bridegroom."

She glanced to see Teresa returning inside with an empty glass. And hiding a smile as she began to set the table.

"Still, you don't need to be so obvious ogling." Goodness, Teresa was here to witness him behaving so now too.

"Wives do not like their husbands to ogle?" He feigned ignorance and asked Teresa, who only giggled.

"Don't egg him on," she ordered and pointed the ladle at Teresa.

"I didn't realize how much I missed seeing you with child in English dresses," he whispered in her ear, his breath tantalizing and carressing strands of hair. "This is about the size of your belly when we met." His desire pressed through the skirts as he leaned in closer.

"As I recall, you were going to leave me for the favorable country estate," she retorted, feigning disinterest.

"I was an idiot. God, Tanya, I need you again," he begged in agonized whispers.

With the bedchamber being right off the kitchen where everyone would notice and hear, there was no chance of his wishes coming true. "Go sit for lunch."

"You know very well I'm indecent," he breathed in her ear.

"I was thinking of how Anna didn't enjoy your affection."

He scoffed in disgust. "That killed the mood." Turning on his heel, he returned to the dinner table.

As she set his bowl in front of him, she kissed his cheek.

The rake turned his head and caught the kiss on his lips.

Hurrying away to the stove to fill another bowl and hide her burning cheeks, she couldn't help but notice Brigands enter and exchange a knowing smile with his wife.

"In Russia, we have upwards of a dozen children," Teresa filled in the awkward silence.

"I shouldn't mind a dozen," Mark grinned.

She set a bowl down in front of Brigands and patted Mark's shoulder. "You let me know how your seven childbirths go."

Laughter broke out around the table. "I think her limit is bearing you five children," Grandfather chuckled.

She brought over the last bowl and sat to Mark's right.

He lifted her hand to his lips. "I shall be happy with however many she's willing to bless us with."

* * *

"You're a terrible rake," she huffed under her breath after Charles was in bed and Teresa and Brigands departed the kitchen.

Mark picked up the last plate from the table and added it to the pile in the sink. Then he pulled the rag out of her hands and tossed it on the counter.

"I have to wash the dishes."

His arms wrapped around as he backed up toward the bedchamber. "They'll keep." His husky voice reverberated deep in his chest, and his lips pressed against her neck.

"As will you." Pulling out of his grasp, she returned to the sink and began to pump water.

A large hand took over the lever. "You enjoy seeing me in misery," he growled.

"Yes, Mark," she retorted and turned to hide the smile.

"Saucy wench." A swat on the backside followed the words.

Without batting an eyelash, she picked up the rag and started washing a plate. "No, Mark."

"You know what your sass does to me, woman." He gave the last pump extra exuberance in irritation.

Biting her lip to keep from grinning, she pressed between him and the side sink - a bit tighter than necessary - to set the plate down to dry. "I certainly don't know what you mean, Marquess."

He groaned with such agony that it almost caused regret at tormenting him so. "You called me that when we were first wed. I stupidly thought it meant I'd married a timid woman." His hands leaned down on each side of the sink, trapping her.

"Mm, you made it abundantly clear that you wished it," she snorted and gave him a look over her shoulder.

"It does a man good to be wrong, on occasion." Those hands moved from the sink ledge to cup the babe. "Leave the goddamn dishes."

Pursing her lips, she cocked an eyebrow and turned to face him. "I don't obey your every whim."

The man blinked, as if momentarily speechless, and then the corner of his mouth slowly quirked. "You enjoy defying me just to see if you can." He swept her into the bedchamber and stripped, leaving on only his prosthesis and the thick, terrible straps that came with it.

She stared at his burden as he reached around and unbuttoned her dress. "I wish I knew how to get rid of those straps."

"It's better than being bedridden. I have no interest in discussing my leg, woman."

A small smile tugged, and her hands roamed his beautiful body. The moment he freed her from clothes, though, shame slammed and she curled up her arms.

"Don't hide from me." His hands eased her arms down. "Let me touch and teach you that I still desire you." Those gentle eyes searched hers. His head bowed and lips brushed hers. "Just as you taught me to stand naked before you without shame time and time again," he breathed. "If you were capable of teaching me that, you're capable of doing this." His lips trailed down her neck.

He had faith she could do anything. He loved her more than anything. So she buried her fingers in his hair and welcomed his lips to wash away the marks of shame.

A while later, she cuddled up to him and closed her eyes. "That was good, husband," she purred.

"Do you feel alright?" He rubbed her belly on his hip.

"Mm hm."

"You'll need to sleep on me again now that your belly is growing. I know you like to sleep on your back, but...I missed this."

The sentiment in his voice made her eyes open.

"No one needed me, and then you swept in, not fearing my fire and looking to me for protection from the monsters at night. Sometimes I still fear you're just a dream."

Leaning up on her elbow, she searched his face.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye that he brushed away quickly.

"Why, Mark, you're never this outright sentimental." She brushed a kiss over his cheek.

He scowled. "I should hope not. A blubbering surgeon does no one any good, woman. This is your fault," he grunted.

She smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"Should you sass me, I'll be forced to bed you again tonight to teach you a lesson."

"Of course, Cuddle Bear." A giggle escaped when he blinked, clearly not expecting to be left speechless.

He climbed on top and held her wrists beside her head.

Before he could speak, she bit her lip in a feisty grin. "Are you going to make love to me? You haven't tried with your leg on like this." Her foot trailed up his good leg.

His eyes rolled back in pleasure. "You play with fire, wench." Then his blue eyes met hers with an intimate look that made her toes curl. "You've spent me, and it would serve you right if I left right now."

With a giggle, she wrapped her legs around him as he settled in closer. "You wouldn't make me want for anything."

"I've spoiled you too much," he growled and let go of her hands to figure out how to brace with the prosthesis on.

His cheeks reddened and embarrassment crept into his eyes as he struggled to get his leg comfortable.

"Mark?"

He stilled and looked at her.

"I love you."

That reminder seemed to chase some of the embarrassment away. "I love you too."

"You can lean into my leg to take some of your weight." Bringing her legs up a bit higher on his hips seemed to help.

"Am I too heavy with the babe?"

With a smile, she shook her head.

He had to adjust the prosthesis and then a naughty smile touched his lips, as if he had an idea. He moved her legs a little bit higher still and then laid claim.

A cry burst out at the unexpected pleasure.

* * *

"Everything seems normal." He pulled down the sheet that evening in bed and then palpated her belly.

"Mark...?" Her brow furrowed.

Her belly grew firmer, but only for a moment, as if imagined.

In the next instant, she doubled over and cried out in pain.

"Shit, we're not doing this again." Dumping the medical bag on the bed, he reached for chloroform to start sedation.

She breathed far too hard and was in a sweat already. "Mark, I have to push."

"No, don't push!" His hands shook trying to get the stopper off the bottle. The babe would die coming only at four months.

But she panted and grabbed handfuls of the sheet. "Check...something's there."

He pulled back the sheet. Fluid and blood soaked the bed. Air stilled, making it impossible to breathe. Please, no. A sob escaped before it could be stopped as a tiny leg began to emerge. It was too late.

His chest heaved. Don't think, just do. It was too late for the babe, but there was still time to help Tanya. Experience had gotten women through miscarriages. The concern now was getting her through this without hemorrhage or infection. Brushing the tears away with his shoulder, he scrubbed again. "Deep breaths."

She burst into tears amid the panting and pain of labor. "He's dead, isn't he? I feel him coming."

Climbing onto the bed, he laid out a towel and pulled her to her knees. His eyes locked with hers. "I need you to focus on me and do everything I say because this is dangerous for you." Tears blurred her. "I can't lose you, alright? We're a doctor and nurse right now, not parents."

Her tears still fell, but she nodded, as if realizing he needed her to be strong because he was terrified.

"Promise me?"

She panted through the pain but held his shoulders and nodded.

Checking again, the urge to vomit hit upon feeling the leg of their dead babe.

"Mark," she panted and tears still slipped down, "what do...textbooks say next?" Her face contorted and soft cry of pain escaped, but she panted and forced herself to hold it together.

His face crumpled, trying to let go of the grief. She was trying to get him focused on the medical side of this.

* * *

Consciousness drifted closer when waking up from sleep. Stroking the swell of her belly, relief escaped. It must've been a nightmare. But, shifting caused pain from sutures. Her eyes flew open.

Brigands sat in a chair beside the bed.

It had been real. Jason hadn't let the dead babe come into view, claiming it'd been some kind of tumor. Delivery had been hard and fast and incredibly painful. It'd felt as large as a babe. He had no idea what had happened, but he'd found a heartbeat in her belly afterwards.

She rubbed, and the babe gave a soft kick in protest, content to remain inside where he should be.

He set down his book. "The master is at the clinic. Teresa is sleeping in Master Charles's room for tonight. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. What time is it?"

"Just after midnight, my lady."

Sitting up to move a pillow, she stilled when Brigands jumped up and moved it so she could recline. "Thank you. Did he have an emergency?"

Sadness flickered through his eyes for a moment before he shook his head. "Just some work. Do you need water? Perhaps some food to get your strength up?"

Rubbing the smaller bump of her belly, tears blurred him. "It was a babe, wasn't it?"

He hesitated.

"Brigands, please. He wouldn't let me see."

"My lady," he said in that fatherly tone and took her hand on the bed, "we aren't sure. The master seemed so distraught that I sat with him for a bit at the clinic while my wife stayed here. I agree that you should not see."

* * *

A half hour later, Brigands dozed off. There was only soreness from stitches, so she tugged on Mark's robe and patted through the kitchen to the clinic connected to the living room.

Only one patient occupied the clinic, who was fast asleep. A light came from under the lab door in back.

Mark sat at the microscope, and he had something spread out on a rag on the counter. A stench of something rotted filled the air.

The floorboard creaked.

He spun around on the stool, his eyes wide with surprise and he shot up. "Tanya, you need to stay in bed. I don't know how fragile the pregnancy is." He caught her arm and tried to turn her around.

"Is that the babe?" The man was too tall and broad to see around.

"I'm trying to find out - " His eyes were red like he'd been weeping, and he looked...haunted.

"Are you dissecting him?!" Panic and horror slammed.

His arm wrapped around when she tried to get past. That question made him look ill. "The tumor. You need to stay in bed."

Grief slammed full force the tighter he held to keep her away. "It was a deformed babe, wasn't it? What are you doing to him?!"

"Tanya, stop it!" he snapped with a small shake, he forced her to turn to meet his eyes. "I have no idea what happened! Stay in bed before you miscarry, do you hear me?" he hissed, his jaw clenched like he would've screamed it if not for being at the clinic.

Such harsh coldness hadn't existed from him since the first week of marriage. Her chin quivered as tears burned, the fight suddenly gone.

No hug or caress followed to soften the blow or ease the grief. He took the chance to swing her up in his arms and storm into the house. Without hesitation, he stuffed her in bed, jerked up the blankets, and then stormed out with the slam of the door.

Brigands stared from where he'd been rudely awoken in the chair. His eyes darted from her to the door, clearly expecting Mark to return as her sobs broke free.

Rolling away in bed, even Brigands's fatherly hand on her shoulder and gentle words couldn't calm the sobs from the loss of a babe. Or Mark's hatred.

Mark didn't return that night.

* * *

Brigands remained the ever faithful friend who didn't leave even after the numbness set in and tears faded, leaving the only option to withdraw into a shell of numb depression. He shoved food and water, and it was only consumed for the babe's sake. Staring out the window that faced the fields where the children were supposed to play at the house built of love was the only thing to do now in the house scarred by death and hate.

Someone set Charles beside her in bed. He slept under the covers. It must've been his afternoon nap. Teresa came and took him away when he woke up and fussed.

Another day and Mark still hadn't come.

* * *

Heavy, slightly uneven footsteps entered.

"My lord," Brigands said at the door she was turned away from, "she's hardly moved and hasn't spoken."

"Eating? Drinking?" Mark's tone had little patience.

For some reason, the sound of his anger brought silent tears to life.

"Some. She hardly reacts even to Master Charles - " Brigands's words cut off and his footsteps echoed. The door closed. Mark must've sent him away.

He came around the bed and set his medical bag on the nightstand.

Dropping her gaze, she brushed away the tears. He had every right to hate a wife who bore him another man's son and had killed his own, with the other twin likely to abort soon too.

He turned without a word and pulled down the sheet and palpated her belly.

His coldness rushed back all the shame and fear from those months ago. He'd always asked permission or explained what he needed to do next. This time, he simply did, as was his legal right to her.

When he reached between her legs to check the babe, his touch emotionless and commanding, her thighs clenched shut and breath hitched as panic tried to rear. Emotionless, just like that horrific night nearly two years ago.

His hand hesitated, but shame prevented from looking up to see the disgust in his eyes.

Forcing her legs apart, every muscle trembled and air trapped in her lungs in a desperate attempt to fight back the panic. He's offered a lifeline the first time he'd done an exam to check Charles - his hand to hold and gentleness in his voice to soothe away the demons. This time was simply expecting submission.

The moment he touched, fistfuls of the sheet crushed in a death-like grip and thighs clenched around his arm, ironically locking him there. Horrible images flashed, and even squeezing eyes shut couldn't keep them away.

A soft stroke on her cheek. "It's just me," gentle words cooed and the caress disappeared, replaced with a hand slipping into hers. "Look at me, my Tanya."

Forcing her eyes open, it was hard to focus on him as spots monopolized vision.

"Don't hold your breath," he said softly and his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

Gulping in a huge breath helped vision return.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes just as red as last night. With hair disheveled and a five o'clock shadow, it was obvious he hadn't slept much. His soft touch withdrew and eyes still avoided hers as he stood. "I have to finish checking the babe."

It was hard to hold in the sobs. Staring at the ceiling and trying to pretend he didn't hate having to touch the thing that would likely kill his own, remaining child.

"Don't leave bed. You're still slightly dilated," he said without emotion. Then he wiped his hand on a towel and grabbed his bag. And walked around the bed to the door.

The pain of losing the babe and then Mark hours later made it impossible to breathe. Pushing herself up a bit to go after him, it dawned at the last minute that the babe needed to stay in bed. "I'm sorry." The sob burst out.

Mark stopped mid-reach for the doorknob and his head whipped to her, his eyes wide. He stood there, as if stunned.

"I don't know what I did wrong versus Charles. I ate more and tried to sleep more than with him - " The sobs wouldn't stop.

He dropped the bag and hurried around the bed, with tears shimmering in his eyes. "It wasn't your fault." When he sat on the edge of the bed, he took her in his arms and slipped her down. "You have to lie flat for the babe." Then he leaned over and brushed her tears away. His brow knit and chin quivered as he tried to hold himself together. "I think it's my seed that did it to you."

"Mark - "

"No, I..." He gulped in a shaky breath and a tear fell from his lashes as he met her eyes. "I could only find one other case of this happening, and the only common factor was the man. He sired two of these things. The woman went on to have normal children with another man."

She reached up and brushed away his tears, her other hand touching her belly. "But this one is fine."

That made him burst into sobs and bury his face in his hand.

Fear constricted her chest. Maybe he knew something was wrong with this babe too.

"I cut it up," he choked, horror and shame and grief making him lose it. "I tried to find a b,brain or heart...t,to see if it was a babe. I,It had...l,legs and w,would've been a girl."

Pulling him down, she held tight as he wept out his nightmare.

"I c,couldn't find o,organs. I d,don't know i,if I c,cut up our ba,babe," he sobbed.

Oh god. It was too horrific to think about. He needed help from this insanity and grief that tried to take him. "Mark, if you couldn't find organs, it wasn't a babe. You needed to find out what happened."

* * *

It had done something to him. He moved in a fog over the next few days. Brigands reported finding Mark often staring at walls for hours.

She got dressed her first day out of bed.

Brigands looked up from the kitchen table where he and Teresa fed Charles breakfast. His face held grief.

Walking over to Charles, she kissed his head and then looked at Brigands. "Where is he?"

"The library. He's been staring out the window since dawn. He's barely eaten in three days. I don't know if he's even removed the prosthesis to check his leg." Concern filled his eyes. "I think...my lady, I think he's afraid of himself - of what kind of man would chop up his own babe. He won't listen to me."

"I never saw it. You don't think it had been a babe at one point?"

He bit his lip. "He sent for the professor at the university the next day. I was worried about the master, so I followed him to the clinic. I heard the surgeon say if everything had gone right, it would've been a babe. But it was like a cancer, and one of the tissues took over the body. The professor couldn't find any evidence of organs either. He doesn't know why the legs formed but nothing else. The professor thinks the master mistook parts of the tumor for genitalia." Brigands looked ill. "I looked one night what he had done in the lab that haunted him. My lady, sometimes I had to help the master with autotopsies of foetuses to find out what had caused the death. I saw nothing on that table resembling anything, aside from the legs. Even those were horribly deformed."

Drawing a deep breath to brace for anything, she walked into the library. Mark sat on the settee, completely oblivious, and stared across the room out the window. Sitting beside him, she set a hand over his.

A slow blink, as if coming out of a haze, and he turned his head to look at her. There was an eery vacancy in his eyes.

"You did an autopsy on a tumor, not a dissection of our babe, Mark."

"You don't know that."

"And you have no evidence to know otherwise."

"I'm no more fit to be a father than a murdering cannibal," he whispered. Those blue eyes, faded to gray with the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes, returned to the window.

The babe kicked. Setting his hand on her belly, she held him there. "You'd never do anything to hurt us. You're a surgeon, and you did what any other good surgeon would do - you tried to figure out what happened so you could prevent it from going wrong again."

No reaction.

"I never felt movement in the left side of my belly until after it came out."

His eyes flew to her.

"I've felt the babe kick for weeks, but never on that side. It was uncomfortable when you'd check the babe, although it never hurt." She searched his eyes. "I'm glad you did an autopsy because I would've always held onto grief."

"There were legs - "

"Legs that Brigands said were terribly deformed, and no organs." Looking down at their joined hands, she swallowed hard and then looked at him through tears. "I know that it was supposed to have been a babe to have had legs, but something went very wrong so it never was alive. The umbilical cord feeding it blood wasn't formed right."

When he opened his mouth, she shook her head. "I've studied books and worked with you closely enough for births that I know it was far too slim and had begun breaking down. The placenta was too small and disintigrating already. I've seen and delivered a few placentas before, and I know it's not supposed to hurt like that - it's not supposed to be calcified. I'm sad because it was supposed to be a babe, but it never lived, Mark. We have a babe growing. I think God gave us a twin pregnancy so we wouldn't feel the grief so strongly. He kicks so much more already. I feel it in my bones that he's going to be alright. I need you to be alright too."

"You should hate me," he breathed as a tear trailed down his cheek. "I did this to you, and I did unspeakable things - "

Setting a hand to his lips, she shook her head. "You don't know that your seed caused it, and you had no control over whatever happened with the pregnancy. You wouldn't have done that kind of dissection if it'd been formed as a babe. You were doing your job and trying to protect me by finding out what it was and what had happened. And you were grieving. I do not hold anything against you, and I cannot say I wouldn't have done the same thing if I'd been in your place." She stroked his face. "I need you. Charles and the babe need you."

He looked down at her belly and his face crumpled. "There's no way to know this babe won't die or be born with some horrid deformity."

She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes. "We can't live in fear. Even if the babe is deformed, we'll still love him. I need you, Mark," she whispered and cupped his face. "I need you to fight through this."

His arms wrapped around. "I've been so afraid that you'd hate me and leave," he wept.

"I thought you weren't coming because you blamed me."

He shook his head and held tighter.

* * *

"I feel fine. It's been two weeks of puttering around the house. Just half days. I miss working with you," she begged. "I don't even have to _walk_ to work - the clinic is in the next room!"

He set a hand on his hip. "Tomorrow is two weeks. I said nothing more strenuous than playing with Charles. You will _ease_ back into things before you start working."

"What?! You said two weeks of being quiet at home!"

"Yes. I didn't say anything about returning to work." He cocked an eyebrow and wouldn't move away from the bedroom door.

Raising her chin, she pointed to his leg. "You shouldn't be on your feet all day with your leg." The stupid man had gotten a small ulcer from wearing the prosthesis too much. It wasn't healing as fast as it should with him being on his feet all day at the clinic.

Those black eyebrows shot up. "I'm not five months with child."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I didn't climb on top of myself and get pregnant."

One eyebrow snapped down. "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

"That you need help at the clinic. I can sit in a chair for surgeries - "

"No."

Stomping a foot in irritation, she pulled on his arm to get him away from the door. "Two hours a day."

He didn't budge. "I told you 'no.'"

Her jaw dropped. "You can't tell me what I'm allowed to do."

"Uh, legally I do," he snorted. "This is for the safety of you and the babe."

She thrust a finger at his chest. "No, this is because you're paranoid that something might happen."

Irritation crossed his features. "I wonder why," he snapped. "I told you to stay home and keep quiet. Good day, Mrs. Johnson." He walked out and slammed the door. The clinic door slammed a moment later too, rattling the house.

Oh dear. He hadn't used a surname address before.

* * *

Mark returned at lunchtime. He sat at the table and took Charles in his lap without a word. Then he glanced up when she walked over to the stove again to stir the soup. "Why are you on your feet cooking?"

All motion froze. He sounded mighty angry.

"My lord," Brigands jumped in patiently, "the mistress is restless being housebound. Perhaps I could escort her outside to play in the yard with Master Charles this afternoon..." The words withered under Mark's glare.

"You cannot coddle me for four more months, Mark." She set down a bowl of soup before him.

He shot to his feet and handed Charles to Brigands before meeting her eyes. "In the bedchamber. Now," he hissed. The man stormed off without waiting for a response.

She followed and closed the door. "The babe and I are fine, Mark."

The man whirled around. "You do not know that!" he boomed. "Get on the bed. You can have a full exam right now."

Heaving a sigh, she kept quiet as he checked everything possible. When he was nearly finished, she caught his face between her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips.

But he pulled away. "No. There's no sex until after birth."

Biting her lower lip, she smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"No pains when I press?"

"No, Mark." Her finger trailed down his chest as he straightened. And let it keep trailing down.

His breath hitched and he pulled her hand away. "I said no - "

"Sex, I know. It doesn't mean I can't play with my handsome husband." She looked up from beneath her eyelashes.

"Woman - "

"You're so tense. I'll keep my clothes on, if you're worried about the babe," she whispered, "and want to play with my husband."

The man choked on a laugh before he composed himself. "You need to rest."

"Alright. Get yourself undressed." She patted the bed.

He cracked a smile. "Tanya."

"Please? You've hardly let me even hold your hand the past couple weeks. I miss you."

With a sigh, he peeled off his shirt. "Kissing, nothing more."

A grin took hold upon seeing his hard muscles, and she held out her arms for him.

The man laid down beside her.

"Oh god, Mark," she sighed as her hands roamed every hard inch of his torso. "You're so perfect."

"Mm, I see the babe has you restless. I - " His words cut off with a gasp as she slid a hand down. "Tanya," he breathed.


	54. Chapter 54

**Author's Note: I took a new job and have been working on this chapter for almost six months. I'm searching for a different job that isn't 50+ hours a week, and hope to have time for my hobbies again. :)**

* * *

"Mark, I can't."

He reached up and gave a gentle tug, forcing a dismount into his arms. "You can. I'll be right there."

Flinging her hands onto his shoulders in reaction, it was too hard to break contact when he let go. Keeping hands on his shoulders helped calm the butterflies. "They're going to realize what I am."

Those blue eyes remained calm and patient. "It's a women's college, and it's everyone's first day. I'm sure they're as nervous as you, so they won't even notice your looks. Sit near the front, if it makes you feel better." He pulled his cane and her books out of the saddle bag.

"You shouldn't have turned down the professor position at the real medical university." She sidled closer to him when some women passed.

He looked over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. "And this is a fake university?"

"You know what I mean." So many men entered the buildings for a women's medical university. Most women entered in pairs or small groups, only a few walking in alone.

"It was my choice to teach here instead. There's no reason why women should not have an education equal to men." He handed over her books.

"I'm not smart enough for this."

"Good God, woman, if you were any more intelligent, you'd be running the men's university." He linked her arm through his and started toward the doors.

Why had he talked her into this? It had seemed like a good idea last month, with Charles a little older and little Della a toddler. "The children are too little."

"We're only gone two days a week, and not even all day at that. The professor got you an invitation; I don't recommend turning it down." He stopped and met her eyes. "Do you want to become a surgeon? Not what you think I want or what's good for the practice. Do you want this?"

"It's not going to change what I do with you anyways, and it costs so much money - "

"Damn the money and the clinic. You can work with me with or without a degree. Do you want this for you?"

Searching his eyes, a lump rose and made it hard to swallow. It'd been two years since returning from Colorado. He'd established his own practice on the outskirts of the lumberyard, stealing most all of Mr. Price's patients who wanted a real doctor instead of a cheap barber when in need of medical care. Mark had even boomed business enough to hire on the professor for a few hours a week. If he hired a female surgeon, it'd destroy everything Mark had worked so hard for.

Working with him only created a stronger hunger each day to not just help, but work beside him as a true business partner. He indulged whims—instead of offering jewels or laces, he gifted a new medical journal or medical book each week to grow the home library. Before the end of the week, it'd be devoured and excitement would grow to see what medical information he'd bring home next.

Attending medical university was an unspoken desire that somehow he'd seen. But it was a selfish dream. "I can't do this, Mark. I never even made it halfway through the schoolroom." The last words squeezed out in a whisper as he blurred behind tears. "Everyone seems to understand I'm a heathen but you and the professor." Passion burned for this dream so hot that some days it hurt. To follow it though, would be to ruin him. And the passion for his happiness was worth the sacrifice.

His hands gently cradled her face, and his thumbs swept away the tears as his voice came out thick and low, "You are an intelligent woman. Race and financial status are only barriers if you let them be. I'm not saying that if you do this you have to actually use your degree. Do you want this for you?"

A slow nod.

"You do not let anyone define you. You're the strongest person I've ever met. Don't let anyone define you." He blinked back his own tears. "I know you can do this, my lady love. Believe in yourself, and everyone else will follow eventually too.

"Now, I'm not here to be a crutch—go on ahead and see if you can meet some classmates before the first class starts. You wed a marquess when in dire straights and still didn't hesitate to backtalk, you stormed England courts with cannons blasting, gave birth at sea while immigrating to America, and taught me how to slum across the country. I'd say medical university is a bit unadventurous in your book." He gave a wink.

Drawing a shaky breath, her shoulders squared. He was right—this would be the least hardest thing done in years. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Clutching the books tight to her chest, despite the slight discomfort it caused with the breast prosthesis she'd secretly created this morning, she turned before courage faded.

There had to be fifty women in the classroom. Most all of them chatted in the seats, an excited buzz in the room. A small group of empty seats sat at the end of the second row. Weaving a path through the crowd led to stares and awkward smiles on the way.

The room filled, yet the surrounding seats remained empty. Nerves grew tighter as whispers began to grow.

Finally, the door at the bottom of the amphitheater opened and a soft tap filled the air as the room slipped into silence. Mark made his way across the floor on his cane to the podium, only two books in hand.

"That's the professor," one woman whispered to another, "I heard he's from England. He's so much handsomer than rumored."

"Do you think he has an accent? I don't want to not know what he's teaching," another woman panicked.

"Good morning," Mark boomed, clearly having experience in commanding a room—perhaps a room like Parliament—into silence.

The murmurs silenced.

He set down the books and flipped one open without a glance up. "I'm Dr. Johnson and will be your instructor for obstetrics this year." Mark rested a hand on the podium and leaned on the cane with the other. Those blue eyes remained cold and calculating, a look not unlike the man whom had come to her father's house years ago.

"Women don't belong in medicine: you'll hear that every day from here on out. You'll have to work twice as hard as a man simply to prove yourselves. You'll have even less room for error and must work thrice as long to earn respect as a physician. Patients will risk death rather than be at the hands of a female surgeon. Jobs will be few and far between, and many of you will have to start your own clinics because of it. I've instructed at men's university; I will work you twice as hard. My job is to prepare you to be the best damn surgeons and make it in a man's world. If you don't have tough skin, get out of my class right now." He paused.

Everyone looked at each other, fear reflecting in everyone's eyes.

Two women got up with tears in their eyes and walked out.

Mark simply waited.

Four more left. And then five more.

"Mrs. Johnson." Those cool eyes looked right at her. "Select a partner."

With an uncertain look around the room and then back at him, she moved to sit beside a woman in the next row.

Then he proceeded in calling out names for everyone to sit beside a partner. "This person is your lifeline. Should you be absent, this person will catch you up on what was missed. This person will be your lab partner the next month. Medicine is about working independently and with others. Does anyone wish to trade partners?"

Her partner raised her hand. No one else did.

Humiliation burned hot.

Mark's gaze didn't waiver. "Why do you wish to switch, Miss...?"

"Miss Woods. Dr. Johnson, I'd prefer to work with someone who attended school."

His brow snapped together, likely just as surprised at how this woman knew that secret. "Excuse me?'

"Sir, Injuns aren't allowed to attend school. If our grade is reliant on our lab partner..."

Oh god, they all knew now. Staring at Mark in a panic, clasping her hands under the table was the only way to cease the trembles.

His eyebrows slowly rose and his tone dripped with distain. "That's too bad. Mrs. Johnson has published medical articles and worked as a surgical nurse with some renowned physicians, including myself. Go ahead and switch."

"Oh. Um, no, I'm fine."

He shook his head. "Who would like to partner with Mrs. Johnson?"

More than a dozen hands shot up.

Mark met her eyes. "Mrs. Johnson, you seem to have your pick of partners." He bowed his head and adjusted his papers, not fully hiding his smile.

* * *

At the end of the day, a headache threatened. Walking out of the building for the physiology class, a sigh of relief escaped to see Mark waiting with the horses under nearby tree.

He sat with a pile of papers, apparently already grading work, and looked up when she approached. "I was hoping you'd come soon. The horse won't hold still." The man chuckled and traded the papers for his cane.

Of all the things he'd been able to master the past two years with an amputated leg, getting up from the ground wasn't one that came easily for him.

With a smile, she set down her books and took his hand.

"How were classes?" He gave a gentle pull and pushed up with his good leg and the cane.

"There was a lot of information for the first day. I think you're the professor everyone will hate by default, though." Sweeping up his papers from the ground, she handed them over.

"Thank you." He tucked the stack in his saddle bag and then held out a hand for her books. "Everyone usually hates me the first weeks. I don't want anyone in my class who isn't serious."

With a frown, she handed over the books for him to tuck away too. "But, how do you know those women who quit weren't just intimidated, or just think they can't do it? If you weren't the professor, I might've walked out too."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "No, you wouldn't." He slid his cane into the saddle bag and heaved himself into the saddle.

"Who says I wouldn't have?"

"You're too stubborn. You would've seen it as a challenge and taken it just to prove me wrong. Those are the kind of students who make good physicians—especially when they're women who must overcome adversity simply for being female." He held down a hand and pulled her across his lap.

"Mark, this is highly improper for us to ride the same horse, much less sit me in your lap. Students already whisper that I'm sleeping with the professor."

"Let them. You'll prove yourself intelligent enough to not need to strip naked for your grades."

A gasp of shock and embarrassment squeaked out as he turned the horse around.

"Besides, we don't have need for two horses usually, and he balks at my uneven weight."

At least the man waited to reach the country road before he nuzzled her hair.

"He's half draft horse and too big to properly pull the buggy with the children inside. I don't know why you insisted on buying him from a peddler—you clearly didn't get the good end of the bargain." Ignoring his soft nips on the earlobe proved a bit difficult.

"On the contrary, my lady love," he said in a husky tone, "I find half breeds perfect."

Her head whipped around with another soft gasp of surprise. He'd never referenced her own breeding like that before.

"The cow that Brigands has next door," he muttered, "He was told she was dried up being a half-English, half-American cow, but she produces the best milk for the children."

"Oh."

He lifted his head from her neck and scowled. "What did you think I was talking about?" A deep sigh of irritation released through his nose. "Just because I didn't rake Miss Woods over the coals for calling you a racist name doesn't mean I condone it."

Turning away to look at the road ahead, she nodded. "I know. I asked you to not treat me any differently than any other student, and I'm glad you didn't say anything about it. It was humiliating, and I wasn't ready to be called out in front of everyone." An ache from deep inside rose up, making the words fade away.

"No matter what anyone says, I love you, my Tanya."

* * *

"Mark." The giggle escaped early one morning a few days later.

He pulled open the curtains and climbed back in bed, leaving his crutches behind. "Hush, woman. You've deprived me of watching my beautiful wife in the throws of passion; I will not yield now."

"We're going to have another mouth to feed if you don't stop." A laugh of surprise hit as his hands wrapped around her hips and dragged her beneath him.

"Hence the protection. My god, Tanya, I have to have you right now." He joined and immediately collapsed on her chest with a sigh. "Don't move, or we'll be finished," he choked against her shoulder.

"Want me bad, Dr. Johnson? I don't think I should be sleeping with my professor."

His shoulders shook with a chuckle, and he swatted her hip. "Behave, woman."

"Mama! Mama!" Charles's voice called, and his little feet padded down the stairs.

She patted Mark's shoulder. "Get off. You didn't lock the door!"

With a curse, he grabbed his crutches and darted to the door.

Little fists pounded on it a split second later. "Mama! I want to play!"

"Alright, hold on a minute while I wake up Mama," Mark called and hobbled back to bed with a naughty grin.

"Maaaaaamaaaa!" Della shouted for attention from upstairs, now awake too.

She reached for her robe.

Mark stopped at the edge of the bed and blinked. "What are you doing?"

"The children are up. Go get Della while I have Charles help me play the cook and make breakfast." She swept past to the vanity that he'd insisted on building with the house, and ran a brush through her hair.

"But, I woke you up first." He frowned in the mirror reflection, still standing there naked on the crutches.

"Mama! _Come_!" Charles knocked again with impatience.

Throwing up her hands, a dry look thrown his way didn't lesson the disappointment on Mark's face. "Fine. You have two minutes while the children yell for my attention."

If not knowing better, his impassive expression would've been mistaken for defeat. But it was the same look as every time he had to quietly take the backseat to the children and medical university and work. Until now, it hadn't been apparent how starved Mark was for affection. "Mama's coming," he called, skillfully hiding the disappointment in his voice as he sank onto the edge of the bed and reached for his clothes.

"Go tell your sister I'm coming, Charles," she called and let the robe fall as she walked to the bed.

Mark looked up in surprise.

"Two minutes, Dr. Johnson. And you'd better make it worth my time," she purred and pushed him back on the bed.

A smile split his lips as he let the crutches clatter to the floor. "Let me fix the protection."

"I'm due in a few days anyways." But leaning down to kiss him only resulted in resistance as he adjusted the birth control. A frown pulled as she sat back.

His eyes landed on the faded cesarean section scar and he stilled.

Then it dawned. "You pushed for university because you don't want more children." The shock hurt, and she sank onto the side of the bed, off of his lap.

Wide eyes flew to hers. "No, I, it - "

She shot up, but he caught her hips and pulled her onto his lap. "Tanya, listen before you get angry."

The subdued concern in his voice extinguished some of the hurt.

He turned her to straddle his lap and softly traced the scar, with his head bowed. "You have to understand I was scared as hell when you started to hemorrhage." His voice quivered, and he still wouldn't look up.

"But, Mark, you said you found part of the tumor left that tore the uterus during labor." Stroking his cheek didn't make him lift his head. "We know what was wrong and you fixed it."

He finally looked up, and tears and fear shimmered in his eyes. "And what if I caused the tumor? I won't risk it happening again and losing you next time. We were lucky. I almost had to do a hysterectomy."

So much fear still lived in him, even after all this time. "But I'm alright."

A tear slipped down his cheek. "Next time you might not be."

"Mark, the tumor wasn't your fault. It might've been a freak thing and nothing to do with you." Brushing his tear away only resulted in another one with his next words.

"Charles was fine, but Della - "

"Della is perfect and has you to take care of her. You and the professor did surgery at birth to remove the part of the tumor attached to her leg and are fixing her leg with braces so it straightens as she grows; she's sound otherwise. You do not get all the credit for everything that went wrong with the pregnancy."

But he bowed his head with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his fingers still on the scar. "Neither do you get to dismiss the fact that I might've done this to both of you," he whispered.

"Look at me." Cupping his face in her hands, she met his eyes. "You published a paper in three medical journals and wrote to dozens of physicians around the world. There's the one case you already knew of and then one more you uncovered. The second went on to have normal pregnancies with the same man - "

"But the severe morning sickness - "

"If I hadn't been starving with Charles, that may've happened with him too. I didn't have enough food for it to get bad enough like with Della. That could just be how I handle any pregnancy, but you figured out a feeding tube. With both pregnancies, the morning sickness ended in the second trimester. All the specialists we've consulted agree that Della's pregnancy complications were a freak accident. If the next pregnancy has complications, I won't ask for more - "

"No."

A thud on the ceiling.

"Mama!" Charles screamed.

Shooting off of Mark's lap, she grabbed her robe and tore out the door.

"I'm coming up the dumbwaitor!" Mark called.

Tearing into Della's room, she dropped to the floor where Charles laid on his back with Della on top of him.

Charles made odd whimpering sounds.

"Who's hurt?"

Della didn't move, but her body shook in an odd manner. A seizure? Head trauma?

Slowly turning her over while supporting her neck in case of injury, the world suspended as it waited to come crashing down with news of fatal trauma.

Della grinned and gasped in a breath as a belly laugh so hard she didn't make noise started again.

The bell of the dumb waiter. Mark's crutches tapped across the floor in a rapid click. "Who's hurt? What's wrong?"

Charles was in belly laughs too.

"I think they're laughing," she said in shock as Mark dropped hard onto his hands and knee beside her. "Charles, what happened?" Mark began to feel the back of Charles's head for bumps.

Della pushed herself up to a sit. "Boom! Again! Again!"

Charles pushed Mark's hand away. "Papa, I'm fine." He sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes. "She got up. I said she'd get in trouble. I caught her."

"Della," Mark scolded, now feeling her head for bumps, "you do not get up without me or Mama, do you understand?!"

Della's giggles morphed into tears.

"Mark," she whispered and scooped up Della. "It's alright. You just scared Papa and Mama. You need your brace on so you can walk." Then she held out an arm to Charles, who looked ashamed. "Honey, it's not your fault. That's good you caught her, but you could've gotten hurt."

Charles crawled into her lap.

Mark scowled, but it was clear that he blamed himself for detaining her in the bedroom and leading to the children almost getting hurt.

She held out a hand to Mark. "I think everyone needs a hug. It's no one's fault."

Mark scooted closer and wrapped his arms around everyone. "I was scared someone got hurt." He pressed a kiss to Charles's head and then Della's

"No leg!" Della flung her hand out in anger at the direction of her brace.

Charles perked up, ever the protective brother, and retrieved it. "It makes you play with me." He smiled and plopped down with the brace.

"No!" Her pudgy little hand flailed, and her bottom lip stuck out.

Guilt clouded Mark's eyes for a moment.

"Della? It's like Papa. He needs his crutches or a fake leg to walk, just like you need your brace."

The toddler looked up in confusion, and Mark met her eye with uncertainty.

"Like Papa!" Charles smacked a palm to his forehead, just like Mark would do whenever he realized the obvious. He held out his little hands at Mark. "Papa puts his leg on." Then he held out his hands to Della. "You put your leg on. Just like Papa!" Then he frowned and looked up. "Mama? Why don't we put on legs?"

With a smile, she kissed his head. "Because God gave us legs that work so we can help Della and Papa when they need it."

Della crawled over to Mark and stuck out her leg that still had some curvature to it from the knee to ankle, although it was significantly better than at birth. The little darling pushed back his robe to bare Hero. "No leg." She shook her head vigorously, making her brown curls bounce.

"No leg," he said quietly. A soft smile touched his lips as he continued, "But we can fix your leg so when you get big, you won't need a brace."

"Why don't you have a leg, Papa?" Charles scooted closer, studying the amputation. "Will your brace fix your leg too?" He touched the terribie scar, and Della copied her brother, although clearly she didn't understand.

Something about the scene of Mark being so vulnerable and the children thinking nothing of his leg caused an ache in the chest. Nearly four years ago, Mark wouldn't even touch the amputation himself, much less let anyone else. There were so many days when he still suffered self-consciousness and worked to hide the disability from the public. Today, he didn't hide it or stop his children from touching—it was simply a part of him.

"No, my boy, mine couldn't be fixed. Does anyone at school say anything to you about it? Tease you?"

Charles frowned. "No. Do you get teased?" Concern suddenly filled the boy's voice.

Mark cracked a smile. "That's good they don't. You tell Mama or I, alright?" He sidestepped the question. Mr. Price did everything possible to run down Mark's business as the competition to his own poor barber serving as the lumberyard surgeon—including making it well-known to the workers that Mark didn't have a leg. It did little to hurt business, as Mark's reputation grew throughout the area, but it gave Mark's coonfidence a sound beating often.

Charles kissed the long scar on the end of Mark's leg. Della copied.

Mark's lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away as he gathered the children in a hug. I love you..." Mark croaked, his voice giving out.

"...to the moon..." Charles added.

"...and stars..." Della squealed.

"...and forever," she whispered, finishing the phrase that Mark had created to tuck the children into bed at night.

Her cuddle bear rarely grunted and growled at the children when feeling sentimental. He often was a pile of mush in their hands. With her, he still grunted and growled, but it somehow made it more special that it was reserved for her—it was like the early days of marriage when he was falling in love but reluctant to admit it.

Della stuck out her leg and pointed to the brace. "On."

Mark smiled and strapped on the little brace and then helped her stand.

"Papa leg." She bent in half at the waist, as little ones were want to do, and patted Hero.

"I should put mine on too?" He chuckled.

Della nodded. "Chase!" She ran in circles, not seeming to mind that her gait was hindered. Charles got up and chased her. Squeals peeled through the room.

With her eyes on the children, she whispered, "I want to be chased too, Marquess." It was easy to see from the corner of her eye that it got his attention.

His head whipped to her. "You never call me that unless you want to be naughty, woman," he grunted.

"Yes, Mark."

"Don't sass me, wench."

"No, Mark." A smile tugged.

He gave a swat on her backside. "Watch your tongue—you know what your sass does to me."

"I don't want to watch my tongue." A haughty look left him speechless for a moment.

He blinked and then his brow snapped together. "Should you continue working on this mastery of rendering me speechless, I shall have to punish you. God knows I should've done it years ago."

A giggle escaped. "As the Marquess has threatened for years. He's nothing more than a cuddle bear who has an empty growl."

"And so I've noticed in class that you're the only one who doesn't quake," he said dryly. "Clearly, I need to rectify that or they're going to assume you're at the top of the class for sleeping with the professor." He pushed himself up on the crutches and chased after the children.

That jest didn't sit well, for some reason.

* * *

Mark's class proved to be the hardest by far because of how hard he drove his students, weeding out the best of the best. The headcount dwindled to thirty, and it was only half way through the first semester.

"Today, we aren't going to work out of the text or in lab. Today is theory," he announced. "If you do not answer correctly, you are dismissed from class to go study again for tomorrow's theory session."

He called on a student and gave a hypothetical situation. It was difficult, but the first student gave the right diagnosis and treatment.

"Mrs. Johnson." He looked right at her, his eyes cold and hard, just like every day in class. "A woman, early thirties, has had two uneventful births and is in labor with her third child. It's an uneventful pregnancy and she has no comorbidities, and she's fully dilated and effaced. The babe presents breech. Go."

Sandy's birth. "Heart rate and vitals are normal for mother and babe? No bleeding or other complications during delivery are present?"

"No."

"Is the mother's pelvis adequate for the estimated size of this birth?"

"Yes."

It had to be Sandy's birth that he was describing. After a few more questions, and confirmation that another surgeon or skilled help was nearby should there be complications, she said, "Closely monitor the mother and babe, ensure the leg still is up to prevent the cervix from clamping on the neck, and let delivery progress. Be prepared for emergency surgery - "

"Have you delivered breech on your own before, Mrs. Johnson?" He interrupted.

She blinked. "I've assisted, but - "

"On your _own_?" he snapped.

"No."

He looked to the class. "Ego is the quickest way to kill a patient. You're dismissed for the day, Mrs. Johnson."

Everyone stared in shock and looked even more afraid of him.

He turned to another student.

Staring in dumbfounded shock, it took a moment to sink in. Is this what he meant by rectifying that she wasn't afraid of him like the other students? Delivering humiliation so no one thought her grades were due to sleeping with the professor?

Anger rose, rapidly consuming the hurt. "You advise potentially unnecessary and life-threatening surgery instead, Dr. Johnson?" She cut into his question for the next student.

A couple small gasps filled the silence.

He slowly turned, his eyebrows raised. "The babe's leg isn't at the neck anymore during delivery and the cervix clamps down. You just killed the babe. You do surgery. It is nearly impossible to get the cervix to release, so you have to do a hysterectomy with a corpse attached. I guarantee the mother will bleed out. Congratulations, you just killed them both," he hissed, "You do _not_ attempt a procedure that guarantees death unless you have some goddamn good experience under your belt! Get out of my class." He flung his arm toward the door and turned back to the other student.

It had to be a nightmare. Mark wouldn't set her up for public humiliation. She glanced around, and several students looked as shocked as she felt. Gathering her books, she headed for the door. And Mark never once glanced her way.

* * *

Insecurities from so long ago slammed head-on the rest of the day. Maybe he was ashamed of her or she truly was as stupid as everyone had claimed. What was she doing thinking that medical university was a remote possibility when not having even made it through the school room? She was a fake and Mark had simply called her out for it. Even in the tribe where no one had formal education, she was so unskilled as to have no trade.

Some students even cast small stones on the way across campus, one of them hard enough that it made breathing too deep painful, as if having bruised a rib.

It was the coward's way out, but hiding in the library for lunch was preferable to sitting outside where Mark could find her. Even if he apologized, the last thing needed was for everyone to see the misfit Injun cry.

That was a mistake. Apparently word of this morning had spread, and whispers and glances followed in her wake more than usual.

The only place safe from humiliation was a back stairwell in the hideous smelling cadaver building. Only, it left time for a little voice to creep in—a voice that hadn't spoken since Papa died.

 _Injuns shouldn't even be wed to someone of his station—white men don't wed heathens, they own them, rut them. Half breed have no place pretending to have enough intelligence for university. Fake. Only good for whoring, like Papa said._

The evil voice continued whispering sweet nothings all day.

* * *

It was impossible to look anyone in the eye by the end of the day. Everyone sat farther away in class, whispered more, threw more looks of disgust. Rumors of Mark resenting having wed a redskin began to surface.

The dreaded moment came at the end of the day of facing Mark. Humiliation, hurt, and anger had all fought to get out on top earlier today, but shame had swooped in and won hours ago. A numbness had settled in behind it, ruled by the shame. Even with a swollen belly and no ring before Mark had come, there'd been a little bit of fire left burning inside to keep fighting. Now there was nothing but a desire to keep silent with a bowed head and be as invisible as possible to the world in order to escape more scorn and humiliation.

If not for the children, there'd be too much shame to even go home.

Keeping a bowed head and books clutched tight to the chest for courage, a wide breadth around the giant tree where Mark would have the horse saddled and waiting made it possible to leave campus without his notice.

 _As if he'd even wait for you._

Perhaps some of this horrible humiliation would fade before seeing the children. Charles was quick to notice people's moods and so very fiercely protective of his mother on the few times his sweet little eyes had witnessed racist or sexist comments from Mr. Price.

The passerbys dwindled as students went home, and the road soon quieted within view of the unviersity.

A crack filled the air at the same moment white hot, raw pain cut across from shoulder to hip and a scream ripped out. The books fell to the ground in an instinctive arch to escape the pain.

Laughter filled the air as two women from classes and their male companion held up riding crops. "It bleeds red," one woman laughed.

"Injuns don't go to university. Do you think it even speaks," the man sneered and nudged his horse forward to trample her books.

Pain exploded through her cheek.

He lowered his crop.

The shock made every movement feel disjointed as she touched her cheek. Warm, slick blood covered her palm.

A sickening smile curled his lips. "Aren't you going to cry and beg for mercy, heathen?"

Meeting his cruel eyes, her hands fisted at her sides. "I don't cry or beg, whitey."

Anger flashed through his gaze, and he raised the whip.

Heavy hooves thundered and the ground trembled. A massive black horse apearled, blocking view of the man. A loud crack.

Mark held a whip, only with the tail wrapped around the stalk, and used it as a stick to beat the man back. "I'll goddamn have you arrested! Don't think I won't use this on a woman!" he roared at the two female companions. He whipped out a gun and aimed it at the three of them as they backed up in fear. "I have every right by law to shoot your fucking head off," he hissed, his hand trembling with rage.

A shot fired. She jumped just as hard as them.

The man screamed and grabbed part of his missing ear. "You shot me!"

"I missed," Mark snarled, ever the expert marksman, and raised the gun again.

The three of them took off.

"Tanya." Mark practically threw himself off the tall beast of a horse and froze in shock. "Those goddamn bastards! They whipped you?! I only saw him raise his crop!" He pulled out a handkerchief and reached for her cheekbone that throbbed with each heartbeat.

Sidestepping him, every muscle trembled from the back pain, but pride was strong enough to pick up the torn and muddy books trampled in the dirt.

"Tanya, leave the damn books. I'll buy you new ones. Come, we need to get you to the clinic." He scooped up the rest of the broken books and eased the burden from her hands. "You must be in shock. I don't know how you're not in tears. Your poor eye is beginning to swell shut. Come, let's get you fixed up so I can appropriately grovel—" He set a hand on her back.

Jerking away, willpower wasn't enough to stop the cry of agony from escaping.

He seemed perplexed at how his hand had blood when her cheek hadn't been touched. And then he paled. "Tanya, let me see your back," he breathed.

Every breath could be felt pulling the wound open and then releasing. Whether soft pants came from trying to not breathe or a need to not burst into tears, it was impossible to tell.

"Don't cry, love—"

It was as if a door slammed shut. Pity. It wasn't needed from him or anyone. Pride was the one thing no one could take away, and the only thing that wouldn't abandon her. A hard gaze met his eyes. "I don't cry, Marquess."

He stilled, as if taken off guard by the harsh tone but not entirely surprised. "I see that." He stuffed her books in the saddlebag and then turned, almost as if buying time to figure out his next words. "Tanya, I was an unforgivable ass this morning. I spent all day looking for you—"

"The slurs and whispers and segregation and trail of stones on the north grounds would've led you, if you'd truly tried."

"What?" His brow snapped together. "What do you mean? What happened?"

A bitter laugh escaped. "What happened is my husband fed me right to the wolves."

The man looked ill. "Tanya, what I did in class was inexcusable, but it had nothing to do with your heritage." His voice shook, as if afraid of her answer.

"Everyone fears you and that's the only reason why the slights and insults have been controlled..."

Tears brimmed in his eyes as it dawned.

"...But I wasn't just thrown out of class today but publicly humiliated by now own husband, so why would I not be free game for everyone else?"

"Tanya, I never meant—"

Even the tear that rolled down his cheek didn't offer any measure of solace. "I asked you to treat me no differently than any other student." Tears burned. "But never once did I think it'd unveil disgust and resentment over having a heathen for a wife."

Rage filled his eyes. "I have never once resented or been disgusted by your heritage, and don't you damn well put those words in my mouth!" He roared and thrust a finger at the ground. "I hold you to higher standards because I know how much you're capable of! There are things I can't say in there in front of them! I worry that everyone is going to think you're making it through class because you're my wife, but I was out of line today! Your answer was acceptable for _your_ skill level, not the others in the class! But I can't give that answer to the rest of the class because I know many of them couldn't do it! Egos would make them think they could do what you described; intellect and skill make it possible for you." His chest heaved and anger danced in those blue eyes. "Never did it occur to me that me being an arse would put you in danger!"

His shoulders fell and he searched her eyes, taking one step forward and offering a hand. "I'm sorry and will see that those students are punished. I'll spend years groveling, but please let me see to your wounds. You're bleeding and have deep cuts that need treatment to prevent infection."

The back of the dress felt wet and cold, as if blood had soaked the material. A warm trickle inched down her jaw. Wrapping her arms around her middle, staring at the ground made it less humiliating as her face crumpled and tears fell. "I don't want your charity."

His boots came into view and stood almost toe to toe. A warm hand cupped the unharmed cheek and guided her eyes up. "It's not charity or pity or guilt. You survived an attack on your own that resulted in Charles; I have no doubts that you don't truly need me for this either. I want to help because I love you. Those students will be dealt with tomorrow, and I will address all of this with every one of my classes tomorrow. Right now, I ask that you entertain forgiveness enough to let me tend to my wife. More appropriate groveling will need to wait until after you're patched up."

He worked hard to get down on one knee, and then forced his fake leg down too. Taking her hands, he looked up with tears in his eyes. "I'm so terribly sorry, Tanya. I offer no excuses. In hindsight, I realize I humiliated you when that's the last thing I ever want to do to you. I didn't understand that such an action was turning my back on you and leaving you exposed to..." His voice caught and his tear spilled over. "I realize now that I abandoned and betrayed you when I'm supposed to be the one whom protects you at any cost. I'm not asking you to forgive me today or next week." He swallowed hard. "I hope I haven't completely destroyed your trust in me."

Easing her hands out of his, she sniffled. "I won't sleep in your bed tonight."

For a split instant, his breath hitched at that pain but he rapidly composed himself and gave a nod.

"You know what they've been like to me, but all of that aside, I'll never understand why you set me up for humiliation in class," she whispered. "I don't care if they think I pass because we're wed. You, husband, seem to be the one who cares what people think. And I worry if it will breed into resentment of what I am."

"Jesus, Tanya, what I did has nothing to do with you not having gone to school or your heritage or any other goddamn hairbrained notion you have! I could goddamn fucking care less if your skin is purple and you came from the Moon. I'm saying that what I did was out of line and has no reflection on you!" He struggled to get up and accepted her help.

"Don't sin," she whispered and swallowed hard.

"I goddamn will because maybe it'll get His damn attention to goddamn knock some sense into your head!" The man positively shook with rage. "I'm quite capable of being an arse all on my own to everyone, regardless of sex or race! You have as much right to be at that university as anyone else, and I'm sorry but I goddamn care about your reputation of them thinking you're coasting along just because I'm your professor! You're goddamn brilliant and—"

So many emotions finally broke free "Stop it!" It tore out in a yell as tears rolled down, the pain seeking to escape by any means possible. "Stop trying to make the impossible happen and make me believe it! Every one of my professors is as hard on me as you are to your students—but just me! No one will sit near an Injun in class! Students whisper wondering why I'm not working in the fields like the other Injun slaves or breeding bastards from a master!" Sobs broke free. "I was beaten, raped, whipped, and almost scalped and quartered because I'm not worth even the status of a whore, and everyone understands it but you!"

He grubbed her upper arms and hissed, "You're a goddamn human being, just like everyone else! I'm not blind to what the world sees and thinks and how Society works, but that doesn't mean I cannot love you and do my best to pave a way for you in this world! I screwed up today thinking I was doing the right thing to prove to everyone that you're getting through university all on your own and I am so sorry, but it has no reflection on your race or gender. Look at me," he ordered.

The tears fell as she looked up, the shame returning full force.

 _Worthless whore._

The evil voice began to surface.

"Be angry with me. Make me work to earn your trust again. You are worth so much and should demand every bit of respect from everyone, including me. Tell me that you deserve more respect than what I gave you today. Tell me!"

 _You deserved everything you got today._

Her face crumpled.

"Say it!"

"I deserve m,more respect than what you gave me," she wept.

He brushed a loose lock of hair from her face and bowed his head to meet her eyes. "You tell yourself that every day, and you demand absolutely nothing less from me, understood?"

* * *

Mark had insisted upon just enough chloroform so the cleaning and stitching weren't painful. When he'd helped her sit up to then stitch her cheek, it had come as a surprise that his eyes were red from weeping.

He'd been groveling the past two days and slept on the floor again. He'd assigned himself to the floor even though she'd not asked for him to not be in bed. It was as if he understood there were invisible wounds that needed time to heal. The night sweats had him in a tizzy that a fever was coming on, but pride made it too hard to admit it was nightmares of the days right after the rape. And the evil voice came more and more often—because it was memories of Papa's words.

Carefully propped up in the window seat that Mark had built in the small library for her pleasure, she lowered the latest medical journal and looked over at where he studied textbooks at a desk.

Few words were spoken since the whipping, but he was never too far and always jumped to help whenever she needed anything. It was as if he wasn't sure of his welcome but couldn't resist the instinct to keep her safe.

"Mark?"

His head whipped up in surprise, the first direct address to him in days.

"If a patient complains of hearing a voice, well more like a voice in the head that's actually pieces of conversations from years ago, can it be brought on by stress or is that psychosis?" Fisting the magazine tighter helped to force a neutral expression.

The man's brow furrowed. "I suppose it depends. If the patient is undergoing a lot of stress from a situation that is similar to the past, it perhaps could cause a form of flashbacks. Does the patient have a history of experiencing this voice?"

She shook her head.

"Is it a case in the medical journal?" He got up and walked over to look.

"Oh no, just a case in class." Her cheeks burned at that lie.

He studied her for a moment and gestured to the empty window seat spot near her feet. It was the closest he'd been in three days, aside from tending to wounds.

She curled up her legs to make room, the flush growing hotter under his intense gaze.

"Does the patient have any physical symptoms associated?"

An uneasy feeling crept up that he began to suspect she was the patient. "There's no change in eating habits or weight loss or anything like that."

"Sleeping habits?"

He knew. "Oh, um, I'll have to ask when I go back to class next week. I was just curious." She buried her nose in the journal.

"They're not voices coaxing self-harm, are they? If so, it's very important that she finds and talks to a physician she trusts." His gentle tone took on a note of concern and compassion, yet a cautiousness like someone approaching a rabbit that might bolt.

"I never said it was a female. But no." She stole a glance.

His brow knit in concern, and he set a hand over her slipper. "Will you tell the patient that if I'm not the preferred physician to talk to about it, Professor Mills can be trusted? And no, I don't believe it's psychosis but severe stress and trauma that are triggering memories."

She gave a nod and resumed reading.

But he stayed for a moment, as if hoping to will forth a confession that it was her so he could help. With a heartfelt sigh, he returned to the desk. His eyes could be felt burning her profile though. "Tanya? Do I frighten you?"

Mark realized the night sweats weren't illness coming on but nightmares and feared they were of him.

Meeting his eyes, she nodded.

He seemed to have an even heavier heart the rest of the day.

She laid naked on the bed the next day, with only a sheet up to her waist as he applied a daily poultice to the wounds on her back. Ironically, her cheek required that she keep her head turned away from him.

"Will you speak to Teresa of what you dream of at night?" he asked, breaking the strained silence. Stress had begun to deepen the lines of his face as the nightmares showed no sign of letting up in their nightly torture.

"My back simply hurts during the night." How easily the fib came.

Silence. He gently laid another rag over her spine. "I know you hate me right now for what I did and inadvertently causing the whipping—"

"I don't hate you," she whispered, but tears welled all the same for the pain of this distance from him.

"You can barely stand to be in the same room, and I don't blame you." His voice grew thick. "If you prefer that I sleep in the clinic, I will. It's not good for you to not sleep when you need to heal."

"Do you want to be at the clinic?" Tears fell from the corners.

He hesitated. His weight slowly shifted the bed as he sat on the edge and reached over her to rest his hand over hers. "I wish to be in the same bed as you, but I know that's more than I deserve right now. I see this haunted look in your eyes every moment but when you're with the children. And there's nothing I can do but standby and..."

 _And watch you burn in Hell._

"...and watch you suffer, and the closer I try to come to help, the worse it makes your pain. All I can do is watch you slip away from me," he choked. "I'm so sorry, Tanya. I betrayed your trust, and I don't know what to do because there's no way to fix this." The bed shook with his silent sobs.

Her face crumpled as all the pain unleashed and made it hard to breathe, but what hurt most was the need for him. Turning her hand over in his, she held so tight that it hurt. "It's so dark without you."

He climbed over and laid down facing her, holding her close as careful as possible. "I love you, Tanya. I'm right here."

Clutching him as tight as possible, all the hurt poured out.

As the tears subsided, he dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, his own eyes just as red. "Tell me what you need. I don't know what will help or make it worse or if I've ruined us."

She sniffled and curled up under his chin. "You haven't ruined us. I know you didn't realize how bad things would get, but it still hurts how you humiliated me, especially when I wasn't even wrong. You didn't have to kick me out or tell everyone that my ego was guiding me."

"I realize that. And I intend to make a public apology to the students I kicked out. I won't care if anyone thinks you're passing because you're my wife. You and I and your other professors will know that you're earning your way on your own merit—"

"But did you do it because part of you resents what I am?"

"What?" He pulled back to look at her. "You're an intelligent, beautiful, kind woman. I know what they see, but it's not what I see, Tanya. It never has been. I thought you were English until you and Brigands told me otherwise; I'd probably still think it. I can't help but feel that some of this is coming from someone else, not just strangers, Tanya. You're always so insistent that I'll resent your heritage."

With a sigh, she looked at his chest. "I think you know there was never a patient with a voice in the head."

The man was gracious enough to remain silent.

"I didn't realize it until yesterday that it's my father's voice. There was not one single kind word he said to me between the assault and when he died. He never beat me, but he reminded me often enough—when other people didn't—that my place in Society was as a maid, if that, because of my birth. I don't understand if he resented me for looking like Mama, or if he was cruel to her. He insisted that I'd whored myself to the thief when I showed up with child. He—" the words were so hard to get out "he tricked you into marrying me, not explaining there was a babe or that I'm half Injun—"

An irritated sigh escaped. "I think you like to use that word to get a rise out of me, woman." He pulled back and scooted down the bed enough to be eye to eye. "I wish he'd told me about Charles because I would've come for you sooner instead of sulking like some brat. But as far as being Native American, it wouldn't have made a difference. Frankly, I didn't fully understand what it meant until we went to the tribe. And if it had been safe for you and the children, we would still be with the tribe. That way of life was good for us and good for our marriage. All these Society rules that we thought were left behind in England piss the hell out of me, frankly. I could very well say you shouldn't want to be wed to a lowly surgeon or a heinous white man, but I don't even think it because I know you don't care. You need to trust me in this. I adore you. Only am I ever hard on you is when I truly think it's for your own good. Please, please stop doubting if I care where you're from. Frankly, it hurts sometimes that you think it matters at all to me."

She blinked.

"You never considered that, did you? But it does hurt, Tanya. I would die for you, and I hope that someday you'll believe it. You know that I struggle with not being self-conscious about my leg. It would be so easy to project Anna's views and my insecurities onto you, but I don't because you deserve to have your views trusted without being tainted by history. And when the times when it gets dark, I remember that losing this meant gaining you. I have no doubts that if I hadn't shown up, they'd have beaten you and Charles to death instead. I would go after you again in a heartbeat and still not resent trading my leg for you. I need you to trust me like that about your heritage. Screw your father. Screw Society." He rested his forehead against hers.

"Does it bother you that the children are of mixed blood?"

He sighed. "I suppose they'll have a hard time being accepted for not having my Scottish temper or not being large enough that the tailor charges extra for all the material."

Swatting his chest, a smile bloomed. A whimper followed as the stitches in her face protested.

The man sobered and very gently cupped her swollen cheek. "The correct question is if I'm jealous that our children will be more intelligent and beautiful than both of us."

Laying a hand over his, she searched his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too, my lady love."

* * *

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Put a stitch right there, very gently." Mark's hands remained steady inside the man who'd been impaled at the lumberyard two weeks later. "My fingers are literally in his artery keeping him from hemorrhaging. You need to stitch it."

Only when he mopped her temple minutes later did it dawn that she'd done most of the surgery. A glance up revealed a smile as he looked inside the man's chest.

"Very good, Tanya. Alright, close him up." He got sutures ready and handed them over.

"Mark?" The word came out so soft he might not have heard.

He grunted, his attention on threading the needle that would suture the next level of tissue.

"I wish I could do this as a real surgeon."

True to his word, Mark had made an apology in class to everyone who had been dismissed from class during the theory session.

Those blue eyes rose, with so much sadness. "Sweetheart, I don't want you to continue with university if it's making you miserable. But, I don't want you to let anyone take this away if you really want it. If you do withdraw, with time and training we'll get you licensed, my lady love. Until then, you'd just have to stomach me as your sole professor." He winked. His patience in private had extended to the classroom, where he had begun to build up his students instead of tear them down to weed out the bad ones.

That helped steal away some of the sadness. The racism had escalated at university, but Mark wasn't yet aware of how much.

After finishing surgery, he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Excellent. Your sutures are becoming better than mine."

Someone knocked on the front clinic door. Mark slipped out of the surgery room, so she finished bandaging the patient.

The low rumble of two male voices came through the wall.

Once the surgical patient was situated, she slipped out. Mark might need a hand with the new patient.

A heavily muscled man about Mark's age sat on the exam table without a shirt. He had no visible injuries or gore, which was unusual in lumberyard medicine. And it gave time to be aware of having a semi-dressed male patient. Her feet slammed to a halt as embarrassment rose. "Oh. It looks like you don't need help."

The man looked up and his cheeks flushed slightly.

Mark moved the man's shoulder, which elicited a gasp of pain. "Actually, I think we do. You might've torn a shoulder ligament. Tanya, would you come here for a moment and hold up his arm? He has trouble doing it himself."

This was the most able-bodied, unclothed, conscious male patient yet. Talking would be a good distraction. She took his arm and held up the substantial weight from his thick muscles. It brought back memories of Mark's heavy muscles from blacksmithing that hadn't fully gone away with having to use heavy metal crutches. "I'm Mrs. Johnson. What happened?"

Mark stepped behind the man and began palpating along the shoulder blade area.

"Theodore, ma'm. I just arrived at the lumberyard this morning and started work as the blacksmith. I haven't worked for a couple weeks while traveling from the south, so I thought I was just out of shape when my shoulder started to hurt. A few more swings, and it hurt something fierce and I couldn't lift my hammer. The men said to come here for a real Doooc." The last word came out as a yelp as he jerked when Mark pressed on his shoulder joint.

The jerk of his arm downward threw her forward right into the man's lap.

Scrambling back, utterly mortified, she mumbled apologies and patted her bun in place for something to do with her hands.

"Beg your pardon. My fault," he said, his cheeks as red as hers felt. "You're as light as a feather."

Mark stilled and simply looked from her to Theodore to her again for a moment. "Your rotator cuff is torn and needs surgery," he grunted.

The blacksmith shook his head. "I can't be out of work. Wrap it up and put some salve or something on it, Doc. I need paychecks to start coming again."

Mark crossed his arms over his chest. "It won't heal without surgery. It's plain and simple."

Stress clouded Theodore's eyes. "Well, I suppose I can get by for a week or two—"

"Recovery takes six weeks," Mark stated. "Perhaps your wife can do a little work at the restaurant in town that opened and serves lunch and dinner to the workers, just until you're back on your feet."

He slowly shook his head. "It's just me. I can't be out that long. Thank you, Doc. What do I owe you?" The man pulled on his shirt, breaking into a sweat from the pain of forcing his arm through the sleeve.

Mark frowned.

She stepped forward beside Mark. "Perhaps you can help temporarily at the saloon or somewhere, just while you heal. You really do need the surgery. If you wait, your body might try to heal it and make it worse with swelling and—"

"No, thank you, ma'm. I understand what's needed, I just can't do it right now." He slid to his feet, standing slightly taller than Mark and much taller than herself.

Mark threw up his hands in defeat. "You know that Price will want a physician's clearance to return to work because he doesn't like liability on his hands."

Theodore nodded and buttoned his shirt, trying not to wince in pain. "Yes, sir."

He planned on seeing the quack that Mr. Price had working as the surgeon for the lumberyard, who would undoubtedly give work clearance for an under-the-table fee.

Stepping forward, she brushed aside Theodore's bad arm and took over buttoning his shirt. "Promise that you will not let him try surgery. He may say you'll be better within days if he does it, but he is not a good man of science. We often have to try to repair his work, and we very often times cannot undo the full damage he inflicts." She looked far up at him. There was something very gentle and safe about him.

"Yes, ma'm. No surgery from him." He cracked a smile. "Thank you." With his wrong arm, he dug into his opposite pocket and handed Mark money. Then he headed out the door.

Mark cleared his throat as she watched Theodore out the window.

Without turning, she sighed. "Mark, there's something he wasn't saying that is putting him in a tough spot. I wish you would've offered him some kind of position, or at least meals so he wouldn't go hungry after surgery."

"Perhaps I'm not eager to have a man around to whom my wife is attracted," he retorted.

Spinning around, she frowned. "You said yourself that it takes time to not be embarrassed by nakedness. There was no blood to distract me, and I fell in the man's lap."

He simply cocked an eyebrow.

A deep sigh escaped and she rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm going to leave my wonderful husband and babies so I can have an affair with a stranger." She headed for the surgery room and peeked inside to see the patient still asleep.

"Oh, I'm sorry, here's my leave for you to go have hot sex while I stay here and watch the children!"

Her jaw dropped, and she closed the door so the patient wouldn't wake up. "You're being irrational!"

His eyebrows shot up, and he thrust a finger at his chest. "Am I? You haven't looked at me like that in a very long time."

The shock faded into concern. "Like what? I didn't look at him like anything, Mark."

"You looked at me like that the night in England when you were going to cut your hair and ran into my chest, and a few times right after we went to the tribe. It's raw attraction," he said quietly. "I know that our life isn't glamorous and the bedroom isn't as exciting with two children in the mix now and my leg and I'm not exactly the youngest man in the lumberyard—"

"Oh my goodness, Mark, I do desire you." She looped her arms around his neck, and his hands rested on her hips. "It's just that we're busy with work and the children, and...when I see you without a shirt, I'm either dead tired or we have a busy day ahead."

"Do you know how long it's been since we've made love?"

A slight smile pulled. "You're keeping track of how many weeks?"

"Six months."

She blinked and dropped her arms. "No."

He nodded. "Every single time we get close, the children wake up or a patient comes or something else happens. We didn't even get to finish that morning that Della fell out of bed. I understand that you're running a house and a business and a mother to two children and we're in medical school. I can take the backseat, Tanya, just not to another man." Heartbreak wove through his voice.

"You think I wouldn't be faithful?"

"No, I know that you would. Just...it feels like when I am on your list, 'doctor,' 'business partner,' 'amputee,' and everything else push 'husband' to last. I worry that 'husband' won't be on the list anymore eventually." He cleared his throat, as if uncomfortable with being so sentimental. "Go take a lunch break with the children. I'll watch the patient," he grunted and stepped back.

Catching his arm, she looked up into his eyes. "I realize that you are forced to take a backseat many days as a husband. But above everything else you are to me, you're my best friend. Yes, there was a fleeting moment of attraction because his muscles reminded me of how big yours were when you did blacksmith work; it had nothing to do with him. Let's see if Teresa and Brigands can watch the children tomorrow night, and we have a night together."

The patient moaned and interrupted before Mark could answer.

* * *

"Tanya, this should not be arousing," Mark panted the next evening as she kissed her way up his thigh and slid the prosthesis off.

"Why not? The children are at Brigands's house, so no one will hear what I do to my husband."

A slight chuckle filled the air, followed by a gasp as her hand wandered.

"Because, it's a disgusting appendage...oh god, Tanya...you don't know how many nights I've dreamed of making love to you."

"Have you, Marquess?" She purred and interrupted kisses to unwrap his bandage. "I intend to kiss every inch of skin that this bandage unveils."

"Let me pleasure you too," he panted and pulled off her dress.

"Mark now," she begged minutes later and squirmed underneath him.

"I'm coming, my lady love." He adjusted the birth control and his back rolled in a graceful arch to join her.

Someone knocked at the front door.

He paused in surprise.

Another knock.

With a curse, he rolled off and snatched his robe. "I'm going to kill someone. It's like the whole goddamn world is against us ever seeing the marriage bed again!"

"Maybe it's just something simple." She stretched under the sheets, the restless energy building. "Hurry back, Mark. I need you so much."

"My god, Tanya, just the sight of you is almost too much," he moaned in agony and grabbed his crutches.

He returned seconds later, his expression fierce. "The blacksmith is back. The goddamn quack gave him a poutice that made his shoulder balloon up. I put tools on the stove to boil." He tossed aside his crutches and yanked off his robe as he climbed into bed.

She blinked as his fingers laced with hers and he positioned her leg to cradle Hero. "What are you doing?"

"We're having sex even if it's just thirty seconds. There's no way I can concentrate during surgery, needing you this much."

A giggle answered.

* * *

He guided her hand away a few nights later and gave a chaste kiss on the cheek. "We have to be up early tomorrow." Then he turned out the light and rolled away in bed.

Staring at his back, uncharacteristically covered in a nightshirt, a sad sigh released. "Mark?" she whispered in the moonlight, "you stopped in the middle of kissing me the night the blacksmith needed surgery, and you've avoided every time I've tried to touch you since." Propping up on her elbow, she set a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "I know sometimes you get self-conscious about your leg, and you know I don't mind if we have to just cuddle sometimes."

"A good wife knows not to speak of her husband's ailments," he snapped.

But a smile took hold at his growling. "I know, a good wife doesn't try to help him through difficult times."

"You're welcome to sleep in Della's bed if you sass me, woman," he barked.

"And leave my cuddle bear in a cold bed in the dark? Somehow I think he'd come find me during the night and bring me back to bed."

The man punched his pillow and resituated his head. "You always did have odd female notions in your head," he huffed.

Stroking his arm that had only grown harder over the years from using crutches and a cane, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Yes, Mark."

"I'm in ill humor, woman."

"Of course, Mark. If you wish to punish me, I'll be a good girl and accept it."

The teasing only made him pull the sheet up over his shoulder.

A frown pulled. "Mark, I wasn't poking fun. I wish you'd tell me what's wrong. Did I do something at university? Or in bed that night?"

"No! Dammit, Tanya, stop goddamn badgering me and let me be!"

Blinking back the hurt at his harsh tone, she withdrew her hand and rolled away in bed.

After his breathing evened out minutes later, she slipped out of bed with a pillow.

"Where are you going?"

She stilled. His voice didn't have a sleepiness to it, as if he'd been awake the whole time. Hugging the pillow tight for comfort, staring at the doorknob made the ache hurt a little less. "To check in the children."

"You need a pillow for that?" Only his tone didn't expect an answer.

"You know that I grew up being acutely aware I was always unwanted by everyone. I think it's better if I sleep with the children so we don't get in an argument."

"And you know my temper doesn't discriminate you from anyone else," he said quietly.

"I know, but sometimes it's hard to feel that way when you've been pushing me away for days. You always want me to talk to you when I'm upset, yet... Is she ever going to leave us?" she whispered and laid her cheek on the pillow clutched to her heart in comfort.

"Who?"

"Anna." The name breathed out like the curse it had slowly become. "I've stood by you through everything, but you still choose to believe her over me."

"Tanya, she has nothing to do with this." But he wouldn't elaborate.

With a slow nod at the door, she whispered, "Goodnight, Mark." And then she quietly slipped out of the room.

"Tanya, don't make me get my crutches and hobble after you. My pride stings enough."

Returning to the doorway, she swallowed hard when he sat up. "I don't want you to come after me."

He held out his arm. "Stop babbling nonsense. I can tell when you're about to cry. Come. I'm not sure what's wrong and didn't want to tell you so you wouldn't worry."

Dropping the pillow on the bed, she crawled across to sit facing him but close enough for his arm to wrap around her waist. "Didn't want to tell me what? Is it your leg?"

The man stared at the blankets for a moment. "I can't figure it out and have been working up the nerve to ask someone else."

"Mark, what is it? What's wrong?" Her heart beat faster in dread.

"When...um, when I desire you...it hurts..."

She frowned. "Hurts like too much blood flow?"

He shook his head. "Not there, the stump." He glanced up.

Her brow furrowed. "There's not a tumor or anything?"

"I can't feel anything abnormal. I went through textbooks and can't find anything matching the symptoms."

A few minutes later, she pulled up the bedsheet. "I don't feel anything. Does it hurt after you've been on your feet all day?"

He frowned. "A couple times, but not consistently. We should go to bed. We aren't going to figure out anything tonight." He laid down and held out an arm for her to curl up.

The next morning, she rolled over to an empty spot in bed. Sunlight peeked through the windows, and the pitter patter of feet upstairs broke the silence. A tap followed—Mark must've taken the cane or crutches and gone to take care of the children so she could sleep in. Stretching in bliss, a sigh of contentment escaped.

Mark's cry of pain, followed by a heavy thud, broke the silence.

"Mamaaaaaaaaa!" Charles shrieked in terror.

Throwing back the sheets, she tore out of bed and ran up two stairs at a time.

"Mamaaaaaa!"

Mark laid in an unconscious heap in the middle of the children's room. Della sobbed in the corner of her bed, and Charles cried as he climbed out from under Mark's arm. "What happened?" Dropping to the floor, she pulled Charles free.

"Pa,papa lifted me a,and then screamed. H,he died."

"He didn't die. Are you hurt?" Feeling Mark's pulse at his neck didn't give any sign of an arrhythmia.

"N,no."

"Run next door to Mr. Brigands. Tell him Papa fell and Mama said it's an emergency. Go!"

Rolling Mark onto his back, mindful of a neck injury, he became a textbook case. With steady hands but a racing heart, an exam progressed to check for the worst causes first. "Della, don't cry. Papa's just asleep."

Brigands ran in moments later, still in a nightshirt. "Teresa, take the children. Mistress, what's wrong with him?"

Her hands fumbled trying to strip Mark's pants. A heart attack not bad enough to kill him? Stroke? Aneurysm? Something with the amputation? "I don't know. I can't find anything wrong!" The quiver in her voice and panic made her hands shake.

Brigands simply grabbed Mark's pants and yanked them down for her, apparently thinking the same thing because he went right for the prosthesis. His hands froze the same moment as hers.

Blood poured out from of the end of the amputation.

"Oh god," she breathed.

"Mistress, if we use the dumbwaiter, us and Teresa can get him into surgery - "

"There's no surgeon who can get here fast enough! He'll hemorrhage within minutes!" The shrill shriek of panic didn't even rouse Mark, who paled by the minute.

Brigands grabbed her shoulders and locked eyes. "He's having you do more and more surgeries yourself - "

"Supervised! I've never done one this bad by myself! I - "

He gave a shake. "You're all he has! Teresa!" he bellowed without breaking eye contact, "Boil water for surgery! Now!"

The last stitch was in and the room spun.

"Easy now. The worst is over. No need to faint." Brigands eased her into a chair.

"If I didn't do it right - "

"I assisted a time or two with blood clots that burst like this, and your job looked as good as any. Go freshen up before he wakes, my lady."

A glance down revealed perspiration stains, as well as bloodstains. Then it dawned that they were both still in nightclothes.

Brigands stood from his chair beside Mark's bed when she returned. "You stay with him. We'll watch the little ones."

Mark's eyes fluttered open minutes later. "Tanyaaa?" His speech had a slight slur yet.

"You fainted. There was deep vein thrombosis that ruptured. Brigands and I each gave you blood, but you may be weak for a few days."

With a slow nod, he closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed. "Tree bark?"

"I have it right here." Opening the container in her lap, she took a couple sticks and slipped them into his mouth to chew.

"How much more did you have to cut off?" No emotion accompanied the words.

Searching his eyes squinted in pain and dulled with shame, she stroked his whiskery cheek. "Not much. There was a small bit of muscle death next to the sciatic nerve, which is probably why you were having pain when we'd try to be intimate—my leg would've been supporting right where the clot was.

He remained silent all day, but his eyes watchful as patients came and went.

When another man was hospitalized for a mild infection in a hand saw wound, Mark seemed uncomfortable with the company. It had to be a bit of a sting to pride to be a patient in the clinic that he ran, but moving him so soon after major artery repair was too dangerous. So she put up a divider to give him some privacy.

The other man slept at the end of the day, so she peeked in on Mark again and held up a deck of cards. "Do you want to play?"

His eyes lit up for the first time all day. And faded the moment she put on the stethoscope.

"Last check and then we can go wild playing cards."

Although he was complacent as she listened and checked if the bandage was too tight, he stared at the sheet the entire time.

"Do you need the chamber pot? You haven't gone all day."

His lower lip quivered and he gave a sharp shake of his head.

She sank onto the edge of the bed slowly so as not to jostle his wound and set a hand on his arm. "This is temporary. In a couple days, you can be back in our bed and seeing to yourself. You're injured; this doesn't mean you're an invalid."

He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling, releasing a shaky breath. "I know," he whispered. "But it's starting all over with the prosthesis. Six weeks, at least, of crutches and hobbling around on one leg. No carrying the children or making love with you and I'll probably lose my professor position being out that long...this is the third time of starting over. How many more?" Those blue eyes locked with hers and a tear spilled over his lashes. "Each time is something worse. If you hadn't been home..."

Grabbing his face, she bore into his gaze. "But I was. We know now that if you have a pain like that again to look for DVT. It doesn't matter if this is the last time or one of a few more, because each time we're going to be here to help you. And it's not starting all over—we know exactly what exercises to do and wound care and how to remold the prosthesis gel. It's a stumble, and that's all, alright? I know it's painful and frustrating and no fun for you, but it's only six weeks in the grand scheme. Our goal for tomorrow is to get the swelling down. The goal for the next day is to get you to your own bed. We work one day at a time for the next step, you can't look at the entire mountain. We've done it before, and we'll do it again. Right?"

His face crumpled as he pulled her in for a tight hug, as if needing every bit of strength from her.

"I'll go to the university and plea your case for a leave of absence. Husband, they won't want me to get the cannons out."

That won a soft laugh from him. "I'm sure they'd hear your cannons all the way to England, wife."


	55. Chapter 55

She opened the door the next morning.

The blacksmith, Theodore, stood there with his arm in a sling. "Morning, Mrs. Johnson. The Doc said to come in today for a check. There was no answer at the clinic, so I wasn't sure if he's here. I can come back another time."

"Oh actually, he needed emergency surgery himself, so I'm taking over in his stead for a few days."

"Sorry to hear that ma'am. It's nothing urgent, so I can return in a week if your hands are full." He snatched his cap off, as if remembering himself.

"Nonsense. We'll go over to the clinic." She led the way through the main room to the connecting door of the clinic. "Have a seat on the table."

The exam wasn't quite as embarrassing to perform this time, perhaps because he only took one arm out of the shirt and offered some wit as a distraction.

"Well, it appears to be coming along well, Mr. Theodore. Keep icing it for any swelling and only do the exercises twice a day. The incision is coming along nicely. Stop in if you have any trouble, but I'd say you're good for another week until those stitches need to come out."

He buttoned up his shirt with more dexterity at using one hand this time, but his cheeks flamed. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. Um, may I pay half now and the rest when I'm back at work?"

Helping ease his arm back into the sling, she glanced up at his kind eyes. "Of course. Perhaps it's none of my business, but are you alright for meals in the meantime?"

The man fidgeted and wouldn't look her in the eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He stood to his substantial height and gave a nod.

Something made her follow him out to the porch. "Mr. Theodore?"

He turned in surprise at the bottom of the steps. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I can't help but feel your burden is heavier than you admit. You're welcome to our table." She trotted down the stairs. Despite not even coming up to his shoulder and his arms being as thick as her waist, there wasn't anything the least bit threatening about the man.

Clearing his throat, he seemed to have an inner debate for a moment. "If I may, do you know where I could find a wet nurse nearby?"

"A wet nurse?"

With a nod, his cheeks turned red. "I had a few too many drinks at a saloon one night and the saloon girl..."

"Oh." Her cheeks burned. He must mean the American equivalent of a brothel.

"She passed away during childbirth. I brought the baby north in hopes of better pay, and there was a woman who served as a wet nurse on our travels here. But since arriving...the baby isn't taking well to cow's milk. I know nothing of babies. It doesn't even matter that I don't have funds for a wet nurse right now because I can't even find one," he fretted as it all came pouring out.

"Oh dear. That's generous of you to take her in—I don't know of many men who even acknowledge their children born of unusual circumstances. I don't know of any women who have had a babe recently to even be a wet nurse. I'm afraid my own daughter is mostly weaned now."

"Oh no, ma'am, I wouldn't ask it of you yourself, ma'am." He pulled off his hat and crushed it in his hands, his cheeks burning red.

"Who is with your daughter now?"

"The merchant's wife. Please don't tell anyone of her mama, ma'am. I don't want her growing up shamed because of it."

"Of course not, but it'd probably be good for Dr. Johnson to have a peek at her being she isn't eating much. Go fetch her while I ask him what can be fed to a newborn."

That quiet look returned to his eyes—identifiable now as worry of a new father. "I can't pay you, ma'am."

Setting her hands on her hips, she raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Theodore, if you don't fetch that babe right now, you'll have to endure my company at dinner for the next week. I assure you that I can be as unpleasant as Mr. Johnson."

He cringed. "Yes, ma'am. I hear he has a hot temper. Thank you, ma'am."

"I take it she's young?"

"Three weeks, ma'am."

When she turned to go up the steps, he turned the same way to go the opposite direction. Bouncing into a hard muscled chest sent the world flying backwards.

Wide eyes met hers as an arm wrapped around and cradled the back of her head, jerking her to a halt.

Clutching his shirt tight in reaction to pitching backwards, she blinked as he slowly straightened. A look over her shoulder gave a chilling shiver—the edge of the porch would've split her head in two.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

"Hm?" She blinked at him. Her hands still clung to his shirt, with her body still pressed to his from the rescue. "Oh!" Stepping back, her face burned in embarrassment. "Yes, thank you. I think you saved me from bashing my head wide open."

"Apologies, my mother used to say I'm a bull in a china shop. I didn't mean to run you over."

"I'm fine. Oh, your shoulder! Did it get hurt catching me?" Instinct made it automatic to touch his giant arm in the sling.

He smiled. "No, ma'am, you're a slip of a thing. I'll fetch the babe and be right back."

She trotted up the steps.

Mark sat in his hospital bed with the divider pushed aside and his eyebrows raised. "So he ensures that you fall into his arms at every encounter. Convenient."

"He caught me when I slipped and saved you from becoming a widower." Cocking an eyebrow, she hurried over.

The man snorted in disgust. "Remind him that if you get hurt, a bullet will land in his heart."

"He's bringing his babe—"

"Oh, so he cheats on his wife," Mark smirked.

Rolling her eyes, she sat on the edge of his bed. The man could be incorrigible at times of jealousy. "She was a saloon girl and passed away in childbirth. The babe hasn't had a wet nurse in nearly a week and isn't taking to cow's milk."

His eyebrows rose to the sky. "Oh, I see. He's going to have you nurse his babe and _then_ bed you," he snapped.

A long, silent glare made him bite his tongue. Two could play this game. "Actually, I'm going to nurse his babe and then if you could babysit all the children while I make wild love with him, that would be perfect."

His jaw dropped. "That's not the remotest bit comical!"

She picked up the stethoscope and suppressed a smile.

He batted her hands away. "Don't go falling in his arms and then treat me like an invalid, woman!"

"Then stop acting like an idiot." Setting aside the stethoscope, she gave him a look. "I'm the one who should be offended by you insinuating that I'm flirting with him."

"I'm not insinuating that you're doing anything; I'm stating that _he_ is doing everything! Big muscles and now an orphaned infant! Isn't _that_ perfect?!"

A small laugh escaped. "Would you listen to yourself? For one, Della is practically weaned and I can't nurse a newborn. For another, you're acting like a crazy, lunatic husband over a patient. I'm wed to you, Mark."

The man snorted. Then he pulled on reading glasses and picked up the medical journal she'd left for him earlier. "Tell him to give her goat milk, and then he can fall off the nearest cliff."

"You can tell him that. He's bringing the babe over any minute for you to check her."

"What?!" He shot upright in bed and ripped off the glasses with a dark glare.

"If she hasn't eaten much for a week, she could be malnourished or ill. I haven't worked that much with newborns, so you need to check her."

A very irritated sigh filled the air. "You bring her back here. He does not step foot back here and learn about my leg. And you will be an obedient wife so he believes my bite can be as fierce as my bark, understood? Does a bastard well to have the fear of God put in him now and then," he muttered, jammed on the glasses, and shoved his nose in the journal

"Am I to act all frightened of you too?" A small smile tugged. She eased a finger over the top of the journal and lowered it.

"Are you daft, woman?! He'll get the moronic notion of needing to rescue you from a brute! No, you're to be a properly doting wife but quiet enough to not let him know you aren't afraid of my growls! Dammit woman, there are times it'd serve you well to be as meek as when we first wed!" He snapped up the journal.

"Yes, Mark," she purred.

He jerked her down for a satisfying kiss and then set her upright on the side of the bed. A haughty smile touched his lips as grabbing his arm was the only way to still the world. "Good. You look properly kissed senseless, woman. He's welcome to walk in at any time."

Her jaw dropped. "You kissed me to prove a point to him?! Well, I never! You're a scoundrel, _Doctor_ _Johnson_!"

The man dropped the journal and dipped her back in his arms, giving the most scandalous kiss yet. He broke the kiss, his eyes just as dilated with desire as her body felt. " _That_ , Mrs. Johnson, was a kiss to prove a point. Do you know what point?"

Her bosom heaved against the high-necked dress, and her hands clung to his nightshirt because the world kept spinning. A weak shake of the head answered. The evil rake had too much power in his kiss.

"To make it clear to him that you're mine, Mrs. Johnson." He sat her upright, with a naughty, self-satisfied chuckle. "It doesn't hurt if it reminds you too. Do not forget, my dear, that although I may not be capable of being bedded right now, I am perfectly capable of satisfying you very well in other ways."

The room was far too hot and too unsteady. Patting her hair into place, she hissed, "You're a rake and a cad, husband." Only, it came out too breathless to be of any threat.

With a grin, he sat back against the pillow and picked up the journal. "Apologies, my dear, you sound a bit breathless. I didn't hear what you said." Except his grin said otherwise. " _Now_ the blacksmith can come."

"Mrs. Johnson?" Mr. Theodore's voice came right on cue.

And Mark looked highly pleased with himself.

Snatching the journal away, she tossed it on the next bed out of reach. "You can suffer of boredom for the next few minutes for your behavior."

A laugh served as his nonchalant answer. "I like you fiery, wife. I shall await my full punishment with a baited breath when you return," he whispered with a wink.

Straightening her skirts with a final glare, she stepped around the divider.

The bundled babe almost fit in Mr. Theodore's massive hand.

"You're back. Let's have a look." She pulled away the blanket as he set the babe on the exam table. The little darling was far too skinny and much too tiny. "Was she born early?"

"I don't know how long babies should take. It was eight months yesterday since her mother and I..."

It was a miracle the babe survived birth, much less no wet nurse. "She must've come two months early. Does she always sleep this soundly?"

"She's doing better at sleeping the past four days."

Not better but conserving every bit of energy to not starve.

"Go to the farm down the road. They have a goat. Tell him you need one bottle of fresh goat milk right away for a newborn orphan." She pressed coins into his hand.

"Is she dying?" Tears welled in his eyes.

"She's very ill. Go. Hurry!" Scooping up the babe, she darted to Mark. "She's—"

"I heard. Grab my OB bag." He laid the babe in his lap and stripped away the blanket. "Oh god," he whispered from behind the divider.

Darting back in, she pulled out all of the newborn tools. "We make a feeding tube—"

"With what? She's too tiny for any kind of tube I've ever seen." He listened to her heart. "Tanya, she has an irregular beat," he whispered. "She's already starting to go."

Shaking her head, she took the babe from him. "I had it too by the time you came. She just needs food." Tears welled as she yanked open her bodice.

"Tanya, you don't have the right kind of milk for a newborn, and it's almost dried up." Pain filled his voice, as if it hurt to witness her try to breastfeed a babe beyond hope.

"You have a better idea?" she snapped. "Come on, love." Even finding a little bit left to express into the babe's mouth didn't trigger a nursing response.

"Tanya, she's too young to have the sucking reflex," he said in a thick voice.

She shook her head. "She's just weak." But no amount of coaxing made the babe latch on. "She had a wet nurse."

"And likely did more choking than actual drinking, sweetheart." He set a hand on her shoulder and eased the bodice back together.

"No, she'll eat!" Shaking him off, she tried nursing again. Tears fell.

The babe choked.

Mark slid her free and turned the tiny babe over to help stop the choking. He looked up with grief in his eyes. "Sweetheart, she's not ours and can't nurse. The more you try to feed her from your own breast, the harder it'll be."

"You can't just do nothing! She'll die!" More tears fell and she cradled the babe. "She didn't have a mother or anyone who knew what to do. She'll be alright now."

Mark's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he rested a hand on her knee. "Tanya, she's already close to death. Even if we had a way to feed her, it's too late. I know that as a mother this is very hard to see, but our job is to be the physician and nothing more."

"Just try. What if we can save her?" More tears fell. "Just try."

With a sad sigh, he peeled off his shirt and laid the delicate babe on his chest and covered her with blankets like he did with Della and Charles as babes to stimulate breathing. "Dig in the storage room and see if you can figure out anything as a feeding tube. We can't surgically put one in because it'll be too much when she's this weak."

An idea dawned. "A feeding tube. Melt one feeding tube into another to make a smaller one. Peel off the outer one, and use a coat hanger cast through the center as the inner hole." Buttoning her dress, she ran for the supply room and then to the man standing in for the blacksmith.

Minutes later, Mark kept trying to thread the tube into the babe's tiny throat.

"Tanya, it was ingenious to create a tube like this, but it's still quite large for her."

She held the babe's head and he tried to thread the tube down. "But you can do it?" Hope hung on his next words.

"Yes, but it could harm her vocal chords...which I suppose she wouldn't need anyways if the alternative..." He guided the tube in so slowly.

The babe finally responded and started crying as Mark got it down her throat.

Theodore could be heard pacing beyond the divider.

"Alright, it's in." He wrapped the end of the tube with a bandage and tied it to her small chest. "Tanya, I don't know that anyone has ever done this on a babe," he whispered, his eyes full of as much uncertainty as she felt.

"Then it's a good thing Dr. Debonairo is doing it," she whispered and injected some goat milk into the tube.

"Give her back to her father, and we'll wait a bit to see if that sits."

Her eyes flew to him. "But—"

"Give her back," he ordered. "The less you hold her, the better."

So he still thought the babe would die.

He leaned back against the pillow, looking completely exhausted himself. His eyes squinted in pain too.

She set a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I forgot you're still not well. I'll return her and bring you some tree bark."

The man gave a small nod. "Tree bark would be good."

Theodore sat in a nearby bed with the babe as she gave more goat milk every half hour. The rest of her time was spent with Mark as he grew quiet and started to run a fever.

"Does it hurt worse? I can't find signs of an infection." Carefully rewrapping Hero, she glanced up.

"It could be a delayed reaction to surgery," he said weakly and peeled off his nightshirt that he'd perspired through. "There's no swelling?"

"Not much."

"Tree bark helps with fevers. There shouldn't be one. Tanya, I'm so hot I can't stand it." He ran a rag from the basin over the back of his neck.

By dinnertime, Mark grew so hot that he insisted on being moved to the bedchamber and away from the babe. Grandfather and Brigands helped get him settled.

The infant seemed to tolerate the goat's milk well enough, so she alternated between peeking in on the babe and staying with Mark. Brigands kept vigil through the night, helping bathe Mark as the fever kept climbing.

"Tanya," Mark rasped, his voice terribly hoarse, "my neck hurts so much."

"Your throat is red. Perhaps it's strep throat." She set down the tongue depressor.

He captured her hand. "The fever is too high. You and the children must get out," he croaked. "Send the children to stay with Theresa for two weeks. Quarantine your grandfather, Brigands, and you in our house. You can't let any patients into the clinic and risk an epidemic."

With a nod, she got up. "I'll go close the clinic. The blacksmith and babe are there. She's doing better, so I'll send them to stay at their home and call only if she gets worse. She's opening her eyes now. I think maybe we caught her just in time."

He nodded. "You sleep in the children's room."

"I'm not leaving you."

"I have to be quarantined."

"No! You're just days post-surgery and have a terrible fever! I—"

"And am a physician to know enough to tell you if I'm too ill to look out for myself. Leave food at the door and do not touch the plate. We don't know what this is and have to avoid this from reaching anyone else."

"Mark, I had many illnesses as a child. I'll be careful. We'll send the children away and—"

"I'm not risking you," he rasped.

"No, I—"

"Would you fetch water? My throat hurts."

Heaving a sigh, she stood. "Fine. I'll fetch your water and then send the children away, but I'm coming back."

He simply looked up with feverish eyes.

Going into the kitchen, she pulled a glass down from the cupboard and started to pump water.

A noise came from the bedroom, almost like a floorboard creaking.

Pausing with the pump, she looked toward the bedchamber.

Click.

Panic and rage surged as she marched to the door. It wouldn't open. "Damn you, Mark, open the door!"

"Go see to the children," he panted and the sheets rustled.

"You're so damn stubborn! How am I to get in if you need help?"

"I won't." He coughed yet again this morning.

"I'll break down the door! You need someone to check your lungs and make sure you don't get pneumonia too!"

"I can do it." There was little bark in his words, which portrayed how ill he was.

"Mark, please. I promise to stay out, just leave the door unlocked."

"But you won't."

Slamming the cup down on the table, she marched outside to the back of the house. If he was going to be a stupid idiot, he'd have to do better than just locking the door. The window wouldn't budge. Neither would the other.

He laid in bed and didn't bat an eyelash as he watched.

"You locked the windows?!" Pounding the side of the house in frustration, she stormed back inside.

Leaning against the doorframe, she snapped, "I'll tan your hide, Mark! You're being an idiot and this isn't even safe!"

"Go see to the children." He coughed again.

"Mama?"

She spun around to Charles standing there holding Della's hand. Both of them looked up with wide eyes.

"Why are you mad at Papa?"

Kneeling down, she kissed their heads. "Papa's very sick, and he locked the door because he doesn't want us to catch it. I'm just worried and want to take care of him. You and Della haven't had this sickness, so it's important that you go stay with Mrs. Brigands and Grandmama for a few days."

Della burst into tears. "Mama come."

Tears welled in Charles's eyes. "Is Papa going to die?"

"No, dears, Papa will be alright. But I have to stay and help make him better. I need you both to be good children and do as I say. I can't come visit until we know I don't have Papa's germs."

"Are you going to die?" Charles wept.

"No, love. No one is going to die." Holding onto them tight, a silent tear slipped down.

* * *

Mark's cough grew worse all day.

"Mark, I'm serious. You need medicine and food and water. Open the door, please."

"You'll...catch...it," he panted.

"I've had many illnesses. Even if I do catch it, you'll be able to treat me. You can't just be stubborn and will the infections away. Please, Mark. The children left in tears that you're going to die, and I'm getting scared that it's a real possibility. You need medicine."

Grandfather and Brigands appeared in the kitchen, both of their faces filled with worry. Grandfather walked over to the door. "Mark, I can tell by the cough that you have pneumonia. You can either keep the door locked and make your wife ill with lack of sleep and too much worry, or you can let us in and try to help. She's been awake for thirty-six hours and doesn't look well, and I guarantee she won't sleep much tonight either with you in there approaching your deathbed. There are medicines we can use to treat you, but you're the only medicine for her."

Click.

She burst through the door to see Mark settling back into bed. The entire bed trembled with his shivers, yet he was bathed in sweat.

Grandfather opened the windows for the fall air to flow in. "The more air, the less risk of all of us catching it."

"Brigands, bring vinegar. We'll draw the fever from his head." She pulled back the sheets to expose his leg. Then she grabbed the stethoscope and listened to his chest. "Roll over, love. Your breathing is wet."

While she pounded on his chest and helped him cough out infection, Grandfather mixed some medicine, and Brigands vigorously rubbed Mark's foot with vinegar.

Once Mark caught his breath, he rolled onto his back as she started rubbing vinegar on his palms. "Didn't know...a platoon would...come in," he panted.

Brigands stilled and looked at Mark. "That's what family does, sir." A soft, fatherly smile touched his lips.

Mark gave a weak smile. "Just a few...minutes so everyone...doesn't catch it." Then he went into another coughing fit. Grandfather got some medicine in him.

Once all that was left to do was get soup into him, Brigands and Grandfather left.

"You need...to go," he whispered, his energy visibly draining away.

"I'll go once we have you fed. I don't understand why your fever is this high." She mopped his brow again and pushed another glass of water on him.

He grew silent and looked completely miserable, but he accepted each spoonful of soup with a wince every time he swallowed.

"I have some tea on the stove. Honey will help soothe your throat, and it's good for helping with infection."

"No, it's my head...that hurts...to move. Tanya?"

"Yes, love?" She mopped his wet brow again.

"Pneumonia will...get worse being...in bed...My leg is healed...enough that I...have to walk."

The spoon stilled half way to his mouth. "The risk of dying from pneumonia outweighs the risk of your vessel breaking open again at this point, you mean."

He gave a slight nod. "The pneumonia...is advanced...it's hard to...breathe."

Shoving back tears, she nodded. "Let's get you walking."

Within four days, his ribs began to show as the illness ravaged his body. He ate every bit of food she shoved at him, but his appetite waned to wanting nothing on his own. It still wasn't enough nutrition with how the fever raged and sucked everything from him. Moving him risked screams from neck pain. He kept trying to say something, but his words slurred and semi-conscious muttering took over as the fever took over his mind.

"Granddaughter, you must sleep to keep up your strength." Grandfather entered at midnight. "I'll sit watch with him."

Mark slept more and more, this time for nearly twelve hours.

"His cheeks are sinking in. His eyes are sunken..." Her voice broke. "He's getting that look of someone right before death. This isn't good that he sleeps so much. I can't help but think it's the fever trying to pull him under."

Grandfather sank into the chair on the other side of the bed. "He's very ill. I know the look you speak of, but I've had patients reach that point and come back."

"You have?" She sniffled and held Mark's hand tighter.

"We keep giving him different medicines, and you keep shoving food at him. It's the fever that is draining him faster than anything. We continue the ice packs and baths to keep his brain cool. The fever will burn itself out soon."

"How do you know?"

"It has to." He held her eyes. "Our very last option is to try bleeding him—"

"No."

"Let me finish," he said patiently, "Bleeding him in reverse."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when influenza hit the ship? He gave us all some of his blood because he'd had it before."

Her eyes widened. "If it's something one of us has had, it might help fight it off!"

The candle burned long into the night. Waiting and praying that the blood would quickly do something for him did little to stop the grief that grew with every passing hour.

She awoke on the settee at sunset. Shooting up, she ran into the bedroom. Mark laid in bed asleep. "How long was I out?"

Brigands and Grandfather both sat watch, but a small smile touched their lips. "You've been out since sunrise. He opened his eyes for a few moments today."

"He did?! Is the transfusion working?" Sinking onto the edge of the bed, she listened with a stethoscope to his chest.

"He didn't make much sense—he kept muttering 'brain,' but he opened his eyes." Brigands said. "That has to be good."

Her heart fell. "That's it? He didn't take food or anything?"

"Tanya, it may be progress. Patience," Grandfather urged.


	56. Chapter 56

The next day, she walked in with breakfast to see Mark looking like hell but awake.

"Mark, how are you feeling?" Darting to the bed, it felt so good to see him awake even though he was still so hot.

His eyes were squinted in pain.

She frowned. "His breathing is clearer. What hurts, love?"

"His neck is still paining him. I had to pull the curtains because light bothered his eyes. He still doesn't make too much sense, but he'll say a word here and there," Grandfather said.

A glance up at Grandfather revealed a sheepish look.

"I wasn't sure that you'd agree. He was having a very difficult time breathing when he woke up a bit ago. I was able to suction out some of the infection. I'm afraid it wasn't pleasant for poor Mark, but it got the job done."

"What?! That was a contraption I built on theory, not to be tested on someone!" Setting a hand on Mark's thin body only made the protective instincts stronger.

"There now, my girl. It worked and he's doing much better."

"I can't believe you! I leave you alone for one hour while I bathe and dress, and you are experimenting!" Shoving to her feet, she gave him one last glare. "You, Grandfather, know better. Even if Mark was coherent enough to consent, you do not listen to him!"

Grandfather simply rocked back his chair. "A contraption that I'm quite certain literally saved your husband from drowning in his own infection. He's awake for the first time in days, Tanya. Perhaps it wasn't the fever keeping him under but a lack of oxygen." He stood and looked down at her. "If you quit medical university, I shall have to take you over my knee, a grown woman or not. You are a genius. Now, figure out how to get your husband well. I'm going to take a nap."

She sank into the chair with a bowl of chicken soup for Mark and very carefully propped him up to give soup.

A soft gasp of pain and he closed his eyes.

"Does your head still hurt?"

"Yes," he breathed and slowly opened his eyes.

"Let's get a bit of soup in your belly, and then I'll get you tree bark. You're still so hot."

"I thought it was brain fever," he whispered.

Perhaps a lowered voice would help ease his headache. "You seem better today. You weren't ill enough for brain fever. Perhaps it was just pneumonia that is starting to reverse."

"You haven't attended since my surgery, have you?" he asked quietly, his voice raspy but most of the breathlessness gone. "If you miss a week, it's automatic expulsion."

"I made a choice to take care of my family, and I don't regret it." Swallowing hard, she gave him another spoonful without meeting his eyes. "You just worry about resting. I'm worried how long you can tolerate being this hot." She swapped out the rag on his head for a cooler one.

"I wouldn't have wanted you to give it up for me," he whispered with tears in his eyes.

Finally meeting his eyes, she set a hand on his chest. "I did it for our family. No one would want an Injun physician anyways," she breathed as he blurred behind tears. "Other physicians hold theory sessions, and I was getting kicked out daily. I wasn't good enough, and I'm alright with that."

His lips pressed together in a line as he held back tears. "Did they hold theory sessions before I started them?"

She looked away. None, and when they adopted it, she was always the first one asked impossible questions.

"How many other students would be kicked out?" he whispered, but his eyes said he already knew the answer.

Staring at the floor was easier than admitting no one else ever was dismissed from class. It was a means to get an Injun out of university.

His hand dragged across the bed and rested over hers on his chest. A tear slid from the corner of his eye, his body too weak for more emotion than that. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could redo that day. You can earn a license training with a physician. It'll just take longer. We'll find someone who is good and patient—"

"Someone who isn't you, you mean." The tears spilled over.

"I cost you this. It would be cruel to make you train with me," he whispered.

Her eyes dropped to the bowl as another tear fell. "Because you're ashamed of me?"

"Because I'm ashamed of me," he breathed.

Her gaze flew to him.

"I love working with you." Another tear crept down his cheek. "Whomever trains you gets to be the hero in your eyes rescuing your dreams. That's not me." Another silent tear carried all the guilt and anguish that a body could possibly hold, even one as weak as his. "I don't deserve that, and you shouldn't want it from me either after what I did."

"You didn't know."

"But I should've thought about it. The monster doesn't get to turn around and be the hero," he whispered.

He remained silent the rest of the day, barely conscious but not once asking her for help. It was clearly out of shame.

"She would forgive you anything if you didn't mean harm," Grandfather said quietly that night.

Inching closer to the bedchamber doorway, she hesitated.

"She forgives my gravest sins. This time she needs me to not let her," he said so weakly. "I ruined her dreams. I should have to watch her bloom under someone else's hand."

"You're being dramatic like a hysterical woman is what you're being," Grandfather drawled.

"If it was Lily, you'd let her train under you?"

"I wouldn't have done such a thing to her at university in the first place, but yes, I'd spend years groveling and let her make her own choice. That's the problem here—you keep making her choices. She didn't care if she got a reputation for passing because you're her husband, but you went ahead and decided she should care. You don't think she should work under you, so you're not giving her a choice in the matter. For being such a forward-thinking man in the area of equality, you certainly are being sexist."

She blinked. Grandfather didn't often take anyone to task so.

Mark was silent. "Because I failed her in a way that's unforgivable," he breathed. "I promised to never—"

"To never, what? Be human? Make a mistake? A good marriage is making mistakes but learning from them and becoming a better person from them. You apologized and admitted you were wrong. Now it's time to let her respond to that. Frankly, I think it'd serve you right if she kicked you out of the house for a few days, but she loves you and I think realizes you were an inconsiderate bastard who didn't think your actions through. What she needs is you to be there supporting her right now, not pawning her off—"

"I'm not pawning her off—" Mark fell into a coughing fit that Grandfather helped calm.

"From her viewpoint, she like is thinking you're pawning her off. If you're the monster here, you led the charge in getting her kicked out of university and now are tossing her off onto another physician for training. Why? And why did she ask you if you're ashamed?"

Silence.

"I heard her. Frankly, from where she stands, that's the only thing that makes sense to her. She's worked with you for years and you're suddenly shoving her off. Your saving grace would be to train her yourself and work your ass off making sure she gets everything she needs to reach her dream." Grandfather looked over and his eyes widened. "Tanya."

The bedsheets rustled. "Tanya?"

Taking a step into the doorway, she swallowed hard.

Mark looked more exhausted than earlier, his eyes less clear. His hand dragged across the bed toward her. "Tanya, I'm sorry."

Avoiding Mark's eyes, she turned to Grandfather. "He needs to rest, not be bothered with trivial things."

"They're important things," Mark breathed.

Grandfather slipped out.

"I'll ask you one question, and then you must rest: do I shame you?" The words came out so small.

"You never have," he whispered. "Why would you ask that?"

"You know I'm afraid of men and I like working with you. Do you not want me to be a surgeon?"

"I don't think it's fair to expect you'd want me to train you." He tried to sit up, but whimpered and grabbed his head.

She stepped forward and eased his shoulders back. "You need to rest. We can talk later." She pulled up the sheets and tucked him in.

He caught her hand. "I'm sorry. For what I did that day and for somehow opening the door for the witch hunt. I love you. There's another university. I'll help you apply, if you want—"

"Why? For more segregation and slurs? Mark, you didn't start anything that wasn't already breeding. I made it three months, and that's enough."

"Tanya." Tears shimmered in his eyes.

"It has to be." A tear crept down her cheek. "It's alright, Mark." She stood and pressed a kiss to his brow. "You need to sleep." She slipped her hand free.

"I hurt you, and you should let me see it."

Stopping in the doorway and resting a hand on the doorframe, she bowed her head. It hurt too much to look at him and it was too hard to fight back the tears anymore. "I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen. But what you did that day hurt not because my answer wasn't actually wrong, but you looked at me with such distain. That part wasn't a show, Mark. Whether you realize it or not, there's some part of you that hates something in me."

"No—"

Her head whipped to him. "Don't lie to me!" Slamming a hand against the doorframe helped to control the hurt and anger. "I'm so sick of hearing your denials but knowing it's not truth." Her face crumpled.

"It's not what you think," he begged.

"Then what? God, tell me what!" She dropped to her knees beside the bed so he wouldn't get up. "When we wed, you made it abundantly clear that you married beneath you. That does not just go away!"

"I didn't even know your heritage!" he cried.

"Then what?! That I'm used?! That you're the father of another man's child?! What?! Tell me what!"

"That maybe I am ashamed!" A soft sob escaped him as he looked away.

The shock of hearing the words kept her feet anchored.

His chest heaved as he fought a coughing fit, but he still wouldn't look when it passed. "Charles asked for his school project what his nationality was." His voice warbled. "I told him English and Spanish," he whispered. "The thought of him being tormented and called names like you... Della looks like you, and I'm terrified of the life she'll have."

Those blue eyes finally turned to her, with tears cursing down his cheeks. "I don't want more children because I'm scared if it's even safe for you, but I'm also afraid if the babe will have characteristics that will become a target for hatred." Tortured, dull eyes looked back at her. "Maybe it means I'm ashamed of you."

Dropping back onto her haunches, it took a moment for it to sink in.

Leaning forward, she captured his hand in his lap. "Don't tell the children that I'm a halfbreed until—"

He looked up at the ceiling as if the words caused pain. "Stop," he whispered, "you don't deserve these names but insist on using them. I hate it, and you know it."

Fingering his wedding ring, she stared at his hand in hers. "Sometimes I do it to try to get a reaction because maybe it'd push this confession from you." Looking up, she held his red-rimmed eyes. "Being scared doesn't mean you're ashamed. I worry about the children too, particularly Della's appearance. I agree that we shouldn't tell the children about my heritage until they're old enough to understand the ramifications of that knowledge being shared. I've been sensing more and more hesitation from you since Della's birth, and I've been worried that you wish she looked more like you."

"She's beautiful, but I worry if she'll have trouble if she grows up to strongly resemble you. When the soldiers attacked... I thought it was bad enough trying to protect you from things because you're a woman, but..." his voice dropped to a whimper as his face crumpled, "I watched you be almost cut up like a pig."

A knee-jerk reaction was to drop his hand. That wasn't something Mark would say.

He began to sob. "The one day I treated you no differently than any other student, it had ramifications. I don't know how much to hide you and the children." His shoulders shook.

That was like a slap in the face, something that Mark would never even think. An eery feeling settled in, as if watching madness creep over him.

"Mark, you're ill and still feverish." She eased him back to lie down. "I think we need to talk when you feel better, but everything's okay." She wiped his brow with a cool rag.

"No!" He snatched her hand up.

"Shhhh. It's alright."

"Will you forgive me?" He clutched her hand, his eyes unfocused and wide. His grip almost hurt.

"Yes, hush now, husband." Trying to ease her hand free only made him hold tighter. "Mark, you're hurting my hand."

He immediately loosened his grip. "I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you." His dazed eyes looked up as he repeated the question. "Will you forgive me one day?" He sniffled and petted her hand, his behavior growing more odd with the fever.

"I forgave you. Will you eat some bread and soup for me? Then you must sleep."

Mark released her hand and accepted the spoonfuls, as if eager to please. But the entire time, he kept stroking her arm.

"Why do you keep touching my arm?"

"Makes less hurt neck fever head," he whispered, his eyes somewhat glazed.

That made no sense.

He guided her hand up to his head. "Brain," he whispered.

"Mark, I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me." Even though he spoke nonsense, a nagging feeling said he was trying to say something very important.

"Fever," he said and hit her hand against his head in frustration. "Fever, fever, head."

"I know, sweetheart. Here." She switched out the rag for a cool one. "I'll get you well."

He settled down and fell asleep.

When she brought the bowl out, Grandfather met her eyes. "I'm not sure how you had so much conversation with him."

Swallowing hard, she searched his face. "He was coherent long enough, but then he started rambling and acting strangely."

"Mistress, he seemed with it enough, just very repentant." Brigands frowned from his seat at the table. With a shake of her head, she sighed. "Mark would never say he wanted to hide me or the children. Even if he was ashamed of my heritage, he wouldn't try to hide us. His body grew hotter during that conversation, and his eyes lost their focus. He kept saying 'head' and hit my hand against his head. Brigands, he's in there enough for moments at a time that I think he's trying to tell us something."

A crash came from the room. "No! Nooo!" Mark screamed.

Dashing inside, Grandfather and Brigands tried to help untangle Mark from the sheets where he'd fallen out of bed.

"No! Noooo!" Mark swung and fought, his nightshirt and hair saturated with perspiration. "No more! No!"

Blood ran cold at hearing the terror in his voice. "Stop! Don't touch him. He's hallucinating."

Brigands and Grandfather backed away.

"My leg?! Where's my leg?!" He screamed and struggled to get up from the entanglement of blankets. Sobs wracked his weak body.

"Mark?"

He stilled and looked around, his gaze going right through her. "Anna? Go away," he gasped and stared at the far wall. "You're not real," he wept and tried to crawl backwards.

"No, Mark, she's not real. I'm right here, sweetheart." She inched closer, but Grandfather grabbed her arm to stay back.

Mark shook his head and grabbed it, as if battling with hallucinations and reality. "Tanya? Why'd you leave me here?" he sobbed.

"Leave you where, Mark?"

"In the dark," he whispered and clutched the sheets as he stared at the ground like a madman. "Don't let them shock again."

"Get out," she whispered to Grandfather and Brigands. "He's hallucinating of Bedlam, and male voices will only send him into a panic." She pushed them out the door. Then she turned. "Sweetheart, I haven't left you. Is it dark right now?" She eased down onto the floor near him.

He nodded and his lip quivered.

"Mark, you're very ill, and sometimes a high fever can cause blindness for a little while. I think you're hearing voices of the wardens and Anna, but they're not real." She scooted closer.

"No! I didn't kill you!" He screamed and grabbed his head.

"Mark, Anna isn't here. It's just you and me. We're in our bedchamber in America."

He shook his head and rocked. "You're not real. Why'd you leave me here?"

Tears burned for his imaginary fear. "I am real, sweetheart. Reach out your hand. I'm right here. We're on the floor in our bedchamber."

His hand trembled as he held it out. The moment he touched her hand, he startled and cowered away. "They're coming," he gasped in horror. "Don't let them—Tanya! No! No!" He fought off invisible men, completely terrified and alone in a nightmare only he could see.

Grandfather ran in with chloroform and managed to get it over Mark's face.

Mark's body began to slow and relax. Scrambling over to him, she cradled him in her lap. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Mark. It's nightmares. You're safe," she sniffled.

"Tanya?" he whispered, fighting the effects of the chloroform.

"I'm here. I'm staying right here, my Mark."

"Fever," he whispered. His eyes slowly closed.

"I gave him only enough to subdue him. In his weakened state, he's probably asleep." Grandfather and Brigands helped get Mark back into bed.

"Keep him cool. I'm going to go dig in medical journals. You don't just have a sudden one-hundred-eighty turnaround after seeming to get better. He keeps talking about a fever and his head."

"Perhaps he was trying to warn us that he was starting to see things," Brigands offered.

She shook her head. "No, he's trying to tell us what's going on." She hurried to the library and dumped every medical journal on the floor.

"Tanya!"

She startled with a journal in her lap reading by lamp light in the library.

"Tanya!" There was a lot of banging as Grandfather and Brigands yelled for help.

Shooting into the bedroom, it was like being shot in the chest with how hard her heart slammed. Mark's body twitched and jerked. A seizure.

Grandfather and Brigands held him down to keep from falling off the bed.

Grabbing his shoulders, it took every ounce of energy to turn him onto his side so he wouldn't choke.

Within seconds, he stilled, his chest heaving for air from the exertion.

"It's alright," she whispered and wiped his mouth as he stared straight ahead in a daze. Looking over her shoulder, she ordered, "Go to the professor's house and tell him everything that's happening. Tell him to bring whatever physicians he wants, but someone needs to figure out what's happening to Mark."

* * *

The professor and two colleagues had very solemn expressions when they finished examining Mark at daylight.

"Mrs. Johnson, I think you need to sit," the professor said.

She shook her head, and Brigands stepped forward to set a hand on her shoulder.

"It's brain fever—meningitis, I'm afraid. All of his symptoms point to it."

It was like a ton of bricks hitting so hard that she slammed down into the chair. "Oh god, that's what he was trying to tell me. He kept mentioning 'brain' and 'fever' and 'head,' but I didn't put it together. He seemed to be delirious when he was saying it."

"Mrs. Johnson, there is much about the brain that we don't know. Brain fever out here isn't common like in England. Of course you wouldn't suspect it. There are two other cases that presented at the same time with university students. He likely caught pneumonia, which weakened him enough for the brain fever to take over. You need to be ready for it that if he does survive, there are often mental disabilities associated."

Drawing a deep breath, the room spun. Brigands set a hand on her back. "I know what you speak of, but there are many cases that make a full recovery," she snapped.

"I'm afraid that the worse the symptoms, the worse the impact on the brain. He's experiencing vision loss, seizures, hallucinations, an incredibly high fever...Mrs. Johnson, he's very weak."

Shooting to her feet, she gave a nod. "So what do we do? And don't tell me to ride it out because I know very well how those medical cases turn out."

"Mrs. Johnson, it's very contagious. At an institution—"

"They'll tie him to a bed and let the fever do what it wants! If you don't have solutions, get out!"

"Tanya," Grandfather said quietly. "Thank you, doctors." He escorted them out.

* * *

More days passed and Mark slipped into a coma.

* * *

"Mistress?" Brigands said quietly one night and entered with a candle.

She blinked, having been staring out the window for so long that the sun must've set hours ago.

"Do you want me to summon the clergy?"

Shooting up from the chair, she began the routine exercises of moving Mark's limbs so he wouldn't get bedsores or muscle atrophy. "He doesn't need last rights."

"Yes, mistress," he said quietly and set down the lamp. He helped with exercises on Mark's other arm. "Shall I make more food for the feeding tube?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. At least Mark wouldn't starve or dehydrate with the feeding tube.

"Such weight loss is to be expected. It doesn't mean doom."

Slowly lowering Mark's arm, she linked her fingers through his limp ones. "He hasn't woken up for five days," she whispered. "He's not hot anymore. It's not the fever keeping him under." A tear landed on his finger.

Brigands lowered Mark's other arm. "Mistress, he loves you and those babes more than anything in the world. I have to believe that he's in there fighting his way back to you. Whether he comes back to you the same way he left or not, he'll love you. It's alright to not be strong every moment."

The sobs burst out that had been pushed down for so long. Brigands gathered her in his arms.

* * *

"Mistress," Brigands' voice cut through the haze of crying herself to sleep. Someone shook her shoulder.

Lifting her head, she stared in dread.

Mark's eyes were open and unmoving.

Her heart stopped. No. Oh god, no.

But Mark slowly blinked.

"Mark?" Standing so fast that the chair fell over, she leaned over him and felt his brow. Blessedly cool.

His eyes slowly shifted.

"Sweetheart, can you say anything?" Now that the infection was gone came the time to find out the extent of the damage left in its wake.

"Master, can you see?" Brigands frowned and waved a hand right at Mark's eyes to test reflexes.

Mark blinked in reaction.

"He's exhausted. Let him be for a moment." Grandfather stood in the doorway.

A soft grunt came from Mark.

"What do you need, sweetheart?"

But his eyes slowly drifted shut and his breathing evened out in sleep.

"He's awake," Brigands grinned, but his smile faded as he looked at her.

"What if that's all he's capable of now?" Swallowing hard, she sank onto the edge of the bed.

* * *

"Tanya?" It was lazy, slow speech.

Sitting up in the chair in the dark, her fingers tightened in Mark's hand. "I'm right here."

"Tanya?"

The lamp turned all the way up offered better light.

Mark looked so weak as his eyes searched the room.

"I'm right here." She stroked his arm.

His head turned to her.

"You've been sick with brain fever. Do you want water?" She reached for the glass but stopped as his eyes grew wider. "What's wrong?"

"Are you whispering?" The words were slightly slurred.

She shook her head. Dread clenched deep inside.

"I can't hear you."


	57. Chapter 57

**Author's Note: Thanks for all of the reviews! I wasn't sure if anyone was still reading this story. :)**

 **Female "hysteria" treatments have been in existence since before 3,000 BC to treat normal sex drive to believed (incorrectly) to help mental illness. In our day, such "treatment" that Mark does would be a criminal offense, but it was wildly accepted in England and the U.S. at the times. The alternative treatment he mentions that is so "heinous" is actually still in practice today in some cultures. Other "treatments" were incredibly dark and literally drove some patients to insanity, so they were not mentioned here—I had no desire to research those tortures deeply enough to write about. This chapter is simply meant to bring light to the historical medicine of the era.**

 **We've always seen Mark do what is best for the patient; this time we see him grapple with the impact it has on Tanya. They're thrusted into a situation that pushes their relationship to the edge and could easily break their marriage.**

* * *

Grandfather looked in Mark's ears at sunrise. "I don't see anything wrong. I researched cases, and there's a small chance it's temporary as the brain swelling goes down that his hearing will return."

Mark sat propped up in bed, his body too weak to support himself. His eyes darted from Grandfather to her, clearly anxious for answers.

Grandfather scratched down on a piece of paper what he'd said.

Mark looked down as best he could with his neck still painful. His eyes skimmed across the paper, and his throat constricted in a hard swallow.

She sat beside him and wrote.

 _We work on getting you stronger. As your body is able to fight off the last of the infection, your hearing may heal too._

A slow nod, but sadness clouded his eyes. The odds were against him, and he knew it.

He slept the rest of the day.

* * *

The next day, she entered with a lunch tray to try some actual food. The poor man had slept right through breakfast. He'd insisted on removing the feeding tube yesterday, so he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.

Mark had worked himself up slightly to recline against pillows. He looked under the sheet with a scowl. Then he looked at her and dropped the sheet. "Take it out."

She blinked.

He pointed to between his legs.

"You still sleep for nearly a day at a time. You will be alright with a catheter." When his eyes narrowed on her lips, she wrote it down.

The man crumpled the paper and pointed again.

A small laugh escaped. "You look awful, but your temper is returning. That must be a good sign."

"I don't know what you said," he snapped. "But take it out now. My head hurts too much to move."

Setting her hands on her hips, a smile tugged as she shook her head.

He positively glared. "Fine. If we can't have a marriage bed because I break it, it's your fault."

"I highly doubt you can break yourself there."

His eyes flew up. "What?"

"What?"

"Say something."

"I said, I highly doubt you can break yourself there."

His face brightened. "I hear mumbles."

* * *

"Christ, I look like the walking dead," Mark muttered on the way past her vanity days later.

"You should've seen yourself a week ago. You very much were on your deathbed." Keeping a hand on his back and a firm grip on his arm seemed to help keep him steady on the crutches.

"Hm?"

His hearing gradually returned more each day, but he needed everything said loudly yet. When she repeated it, he scoffed. "Clearly. I wouldn't have let you come at me with a catheter if I was remotely conscious."

A laugh bubbled up, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "You'll hold that against me for the rest of your life, won't you?"

"And in the after life," he muttered. Then he eased into the chair on the other side of the bed. "I feel a hundred years old to be tired after simply walking around the bed." A sigh of relief and he let the crutches fall beside the chair.

"You were deathly ill for two weeks. Once I get you fattened up, you'll have more strength." She sat on the edge of the bed and draped a towel across his lap and chest. "Hold still. I didn't run myself ragged to have you perish from scissors."

The corner of his mouth curled up as she started trimming his beard. "I'd much rather go in your arms than from a coma." He frowned. "Did we talk about anything? I have the distinct feeling we had a profound conversation, but I don't recall anything."

Swallowing down a moment of hope, she shook her head. He didn't know about being expelled from university yet, and it would feel so good to talk to him about it. But he was still so weak. "You were quite out of your head with delirium. There were many things said, but I highly doubt anything meaningful."

Mark frowned and his gaze could be felt burning as she focused on trimming near his mouth. His hand reached up and lowered hers. "You look upset. I sense that I said something, and you're wishing very much that I remembered," he said in a low, gentle tone.

Searching his eyes didn't portray any recollection of anything. "Do you recall a conversation with Grandfather?"

His brow furrowed. "Something about university? I was fired for missing so many classes, wasn't I?" The man didn't seem to care overly much.

A forced smile and shake of the head didn't deter him.

Mark caught her hand. "You're upset. Tell me what happened."

"You need a haircut and a nap, sir. Nurse's orders." She stood and began to trim his hair. "Why is it that a man gets long lashes and soft hair?"

His arm slipped around her waist and guided her to stand in front. "Come. My neck still hurts to turn my head too far." He looked up. "You're trying to be brave when I can feel a tidal wave of hurt in you. Tell me what happened, sweetheart."

Slowly taking the scissors to his hair, the conversation was recaptured.

Near the end of his haircut, the story ended.

He remained silent for one minute and then two.

"It was delirium, Mark, and—"

"And every word meant until I started losing my mind," he finished. "I confess that I was far from eloquent in that conversation, but _most_ every word is true. I wouldn't hide you or the children." He turned at the waist and looked up at her. "I shouldn't have unburdened myself like that on you—"

"Because Anna taught you not to?"

Even he blinked at the sting of those words but remained patient. "Because I don't want you to misunderstand that you or the children are some kind of burden because of your heritage."

His hand slipped into hers. "I adore everything about you and think you're extraordinarily beautiful. I was terribly wrong in my teaching style at the university that day and worrying what others thought about you, not because I'm afraid they'll judge you or I for your pedigree but because they would judge your character. You earned your place at university on your own merit, not because you lifted your skirts for the professor. I can't make everyone respect your nationality, but I can make them respect your sex.

"There are times that I hate the fact that you're a woman because if you were a man, every university would be vying for you, publishing your work and inventions in every journal." His face grew sad. "But because you are a woman, you must work twice as hard for even less recognition than a goddamn quack barber like Mr. Price's. And because you are half Native American, they deem you worth even less.

"I hate what the world tries to do to you, and there are times when I hate myself because I lie about your heritage to keep you or the children safe. I hate that I don't always know what to do and it makes you question if I'm ashamed. But do know that I'm never ashamed of you or the children." He eased her across his lap.

"And do you not want more children partly because of what I am?"

"Truthfully, there is a small part of me that does worry very much about life for our children if they take on Native American characteristics, but they will also live in a time where there is hopefully less prejudice. Do you worry that they'll look too much like me to be accepted by your people?"

She blinked. "Oh. I never thought about that. I never really thought about teaching them about, much less visiting, the tribe. I think I'm glad that Charles has many English characteristics, but I do worry about Della sometimes because she does look like Grandmama and I."

His eyes began to droop from so much conversation. "See? I have many of the same worries as you. It's not shame."

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she stood. "We should get you to bed. But, Mark?"

"Yes, my lady love?" He looked up.

"Thank you. I didn't realize how much this all has been bothering me."

"I only wish you'd brought it up sooner. And, Tanya? Have you truly forgiven me for being the stupidest man alive a couple weeks ago?" He caught her hand.

With a nod, she held his eyes and set a hand on his shoulder. "I'll always forgive you, Mark."

"Then I am a blessed man," he answered quietly and rested a hand over hers.

* * *

"Papaaa!" The children screamed with excitement when she brought them home a few days later after no one else showed signs of illness.

He laughed and pulled them into a hug as they climbed on the bed. "How have my little ones faired? I trust you were good for Mrs. Brigands and Grandmama?"

Della climbed under the blankets and Charles sat facing Mark, nodding his head vigorously. "We ate our vegetables and went to bed on time." Then he whispered behind his hand, "Della didn't eat all of her vegetables."

Mark simply chuckled. "Della, what are you doing, poppet?" He lifted the blanket.

"Leg!"

But she dove for Della too late. Mark yelped in pain as she pulled Della out from patting the end of Mark's leg and his less than three-week-old incision.

"Della, no! You hurt Papa!" Charles scolded.

The little one burst into tears.

"It's alright, Charles," Mark gasped and shifted. Then he held out his arms for her. "Poppet, it's alright. You didn't mean to."

"Papa has an owie right now, darling." She brushed the tears off of the little face as Mark cradled the babe.

"She kept touching everyone's legs at Grandmama's house," Charles said in irritation. "She had a tantrum that no one had a leg like Papa's."

"It probably makes her feel less different to have someone else around with some kind of brace." She stroked Charles's hair. "She's just trying to understand why she has one."

Mark looked at her over the children, guilt heavy in his eyes.

"Oh, don't you look at me like that. It was no one's fault." Then she scooped up Charles and set him on the floor. "Wash up for lunch."

"Me too?" Della clung her chubby little arms around Mark's neck and peeked out from under his chin.

"Yes, you too." She lifted Della down.

"Papa too?" Della held up her little hands for Mark to pick her up.

"I can't carry you for a while, poppet," he said sadly and stroked the tiny cheek.

"Why?" Della kept her arms up.

"Here we go." Charles rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me, young man?" She set a hand on her hip. It wasn't like Charles to be short tempered with his sister.

"It's all she says _all day,_ Mama! Grandmama told her no more 'why'!"

Mark suppressed a smile. "You did it too at that age. Go wash up and help Mama set the table."

"Why?" Della turned to her with arms outstretched.

"Because it's time to eat." She scooped up the babe.

"Why?"

She stopped in the doorway and gave Mark a look. "You're coming to run 'why' control too."

"Why?" He grinned.

Setting Della down, she patted the little bottom. "Go to the sink and I'll be right there to help you wash your hands."

"Why?" Della turned around and looked up with those big brown eyes.

She leaned her hands on her knees and bit back a smile. "Why?"

That made a wrinkle of confusion mar Della's smooth brow. "No! Me why!"

Mark snorted a laugh. "Don't tell your mama 'no,' Della."

"Scoot." She pointed to the sink.

"Why?"

"Della," Mark warned.

The little poppet clasped both hands to her mouth with a gasp at being caught causing trouble, and she giggled as she ran to the sink.

"Why is it that when you tell them something, they do it right away?" She turned to him.

He shrugged. "Why?"

With a roll of her eyes, she pointed at him. "You, sir, are well enough for your hands to have tried wandering last night, so you're well enough to help me with the children for lunch." She walked over and helped him haul himself out of bed.

Those blue eyes searched hers as he looked down. The hospital pallor had yet to leave his face where his eyes and cheeks had slightly sunken in, but the sparkle was back in his eye. "Thank you, Tanya."

"For what? Not throwing you to the two little wolves out there?" She pulled off his nightshirt and helped him on with a shirt and pants.

"I can dress myself now." He kept a hand on her hip to balance without the crutches.

She shrugged. "I strip and dress everyone in this house, so I might as well add you to the list," she teased. "You're still quite weak. There's no harm in me helping."

"I certainly won't complain if you want to strip me." He cracked a smile. The wise man quickly changed the topic. "Thank you for taking care of me. And for wedding me, and for the children. And for loving me even when I'm a stupid blockhead." An intimacy filled his voice that hadn't been there in a long time. His voice fell to a husky baritone. "We're so busy with the children and clinic that sometimes I forget to stop and have these moments with you." His eyes dropped to her lips.

Rising onto her toes, she laid a hand on his chest that was still too thin. "I don't remember the last time you made my heart flutter," she breathed.

His head lowered to hers.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Della squealed in delight.

Mark heaved a sigh of exasperation and looked down where Della pulled on his pants. "And there's one of the reasons why," he smiled and raised his eyes to her. He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "We'll resume this tonight, Mrs. Johnson. Della, don't say 'stupid'."

Except he was so tired from the children during lunch that he slept all afternoon and right through dinner.

* * *

"You've lost fifteen pounds." She frowned and looked up from the scale.

"It'll come back soon enough, woman." He grabbed the crutches and stepped off. "Get on."

"What?"

"You lose weight when you're stressed. Your dress is a bit loose. Get on the scale."

Her mouth moved, but she turned away. Silence. The world of silence and mumbles unless everyone spoke louder was enough to drive a man insane. "I didn't hear you, and you're not looking at me to be able to lip read." Sometimes it grew hard to remain patient, but she was adjusting to this as much as himself.

She turned and met his eyes. At least there was an upside of being partially deaf now—being able to see her beautiful face more. "I said, you're the patient."

Irritation rose. Almost three weeks of being the patient began to grow quite old. She still fretted as if he was about to perish. "I'm the physician, woman. Get on the scale."

"You're incredibly bossy."

"Mm, you're the one who married me," he replied dryly, caught her hand, and guided her on. "Eight pounds. You didn't keep on any weight from having Della to be able to lose anything. At least she's done nursing so maybe you'll stop burning so much energy."

She stepped off and looked up at him. "What if we have one more?"

So much hope filled her eyes. A punch to the gut would've been preferable to denying her yet again. "We talked about this. The last pregnancy was dangerous; we're not pushing our luck. If you want another babe terribly, we can adopt."

"But maybe it was all the stress of the tribe and—"

"Tanya, no. We talked about this." Turning away, the damn crutches to get to the bed were yet another reminder of his lacking attributes, on top of everything else.

"No, you decided!" She must've stomped because there was a faint thud and floorboards vibrated.

Turning, every muscle flinched finding her right there.

"Sorry," she mouthed, as if speaking softly, and set a hand on his chest.

At least she wasn't angry enough to not have patience with this new disability, but the humiliation only fueled the irritation.

He tossed the crutches aside and sat. "Dammit, it's not safe for you!" he snapped. "Aside from the tumor, you had severe morning sickness with both Della and Charles! Add in the facts that we have no idea what caused the tumor and you almost hemorrhaged to death from it, and I sure as hell am not getting you pregnant! That's it and final!"

Turning away, she walked over to the vanity with a heavy heart and picked up the hairbrush.

God, it hurt to see her so sad. She'd wanted a house full of children, and he'd built it for her. Now, two rooms upstairs would forever be empty to remind her. "Sweetheart, I know you wanted several children. If this was reversed, you wouldn't want me to take such a risk." His voice softened with regret.

She stared down at the brush for nearly a minute and gave a small shake of her head, as if she spoke. Not being able to hear made her little expressions so much more noticeable. Every emotion traveled through her whole body, whether happy or sad. And right now, her head hung and shoulders slumped and even the soft shake of her head revealed heartache.

"Come, love. I'm a bit dizzy from being upright for so long. I think you said something. Come tell me where I can see and hold you, sweetheart." He held out his arm and scooted back against the pillows.

She looked over her shoulder at him and then at the floor, as if debating. It wasn't hard to see that she contemplated simply pretending that she hadn't just admitted something, which meant she'd said something very vulnerable that needed to be heard.

"Please, Tanya. I want to know what you wanted me to hear. I don't want this deafness to be something that drives you away. I know it's frustrating and an easy way out if a confession escapes. You only let me in when you speak softly, and I can't hear that anymore." Tears burned at the thought of never hearing her soft whispers again. "Please don't take that away too."

The hairbrush lowered to the vanity and she came over, her footsteps silent in this new world. She curled up against him and rested her head on his chest, but her chest didn't vibrate, as if not speaking.

"Say it loud enough so I may hear it while I hold you," he whispered and laced his fingers with hers on his chest.

"The pregnancy with Charles was awful, from conception to us practically hating each other to you faking your death in England. The pregnancy with Della started out with severe morning sickness and then progressed to the tribe massacre and the tumor and then a terrible birth. I want a pregnancy where we're just happy, Mark." Her voice broke on the last words.

Taking a deep breath to blink back the tears helped. She needed strength right now. "I wish I could give you that. Even if there was another pregnancy without complications, there is no guarantee that it's all hearts and flowers the entire nine months. Life keeps going during pregnancy—illness, fires, layoffs... We have a healthy family, sweetheart. Don't ask me to risk losing that." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Accidents happen. What if there is a babe? I won't terminate a pregnancy."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that. I've been thinking that maybe I should have a vasectomy to ensure you can't get pregnant." Even saying it caused fleeting panic. It was an experimental surgery yet and said to be a painful recovery, but the thought of losing her was far more frightening.

Her shoulders shook but there was no other sound as she buried her face against his chest. It took a moment to realize that she wept.

"My Tanya," he whispered and held her close. "It's only because I don't want you in danger." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Don't cry, my lady love. Don't cry," he breathed.

* * *

It hurt to even face him the day of the surgery. He'd gained back his weight and muscle the past weeks, but he refused the marriage bed without protection on. And she refused with it.

"You're welcome to come, even if you'd rather not assist." It was said with hesitation, as if he wasn't sure how she'd react.

The professor was doing it in the clinic next door. If something went wrong, she'd be near but there was no need to be a part of it. She gave a small shake of her head and carried more breakfast dishes to the sink. His deafness made it easier and easier to not speak, simply nod or shake her head in response.

"Are you sad, or would you be truly upset if I do it?" His leg wasn't quite ready for the prosthesis, so he stood on crutches between the sink and table and transferred dishes over.

"It's not my decision. Legally I don't have a say either," she replied quietly.

"Tanya, please look at me if you speak softly," he pleaded.

She repeated the words louder, not wanting to look at him because it would just hurt worse.

"But I'm asking for your say, Tanya. I don't want to do something permanent that you're not ready for."

Spinning on her heel, she flung a dishtowel on the counter and everything exploded out. "I don't want any of this! I don't want to use protection but you won't go without! Someone has to give because there is no compromise in this! I'm the one who doesn't get say because you're the man!"

He glared. "I have not held the man card over your head! I don't know if I'm ready for a permanent step like this, but I do know that your life is in danger with another pregnancy! I want to give you more babes, but it's not possible! This is a no-win situation for both of us, and I really wish you'd try to be supportive instead of see me as the bad guy!"

Her eyes widened in surprise.

The fight left his voice, revealing only hurt and sadness in its wake. "I know you hate any decision that doesn't mean a babe, and I wish more than anything that I could give that to you but I can't. I have to do what's safe for you, and if you won't agree to protection paired with avoiding certain times of the month, that leaves me with this. Frankly, I'm not chomping at the bit for a knife to slice and dice down there in a surgery that is still largely experimental, but I'll do it if this is what will keep you safe and not using protection will make intimacy not so heartbreaking for you."

It was a sacrifice and risk he was willing to make for her sake, and he felt all alone in this. Something tugged hard in her chest. Stepping closer, she set a hand on his chest and looked up into his eyes.

"Mark, I'm not ready for something permanent, and I don't want you having an unnecessary surgery where the complications aren't even understood. It's a surgery largely done only on criminal attackers to subdue their...urges, not done on healthy, normal men. I'll give in to using protection; I just need time to kick and scream and come to terms with it. I know you're not trying to be the bad guy...I just wish for the impossible." The words breathed out with heartbreak.

His eyes softened and he wrapped his arms around, "I know. I'm sad too, Tanya, but we're in this together."

* * *

Bless his heart, he hadn't made any advancements for the past two months and hadn't said a peep about it since cancelling the surgery.

He stood in candlelight in the bedchamber with the prosthesis on and peeled off his shirt after a long day at work. His back had filled out again and now rippled with large muscles.

A fire ignited deep inside simply watching him ready for bed. He was as beautiful as that night in England when she'd run into his chest after he stopped her from cutting off her hair.

He undid his pants and let them fall, revealing a beautiful backside and a thick, strong thigh. He reached for the prosthesis strap around his waist.

Stepping forward as the need to touch him grew too powerful to resist, her arms wrapped around and brushed his hands aside to do the straps herself.

The poor man jumped, and he looked over his shoulder. A soft smile touched his lips. "Are you going to help?"

Pressing a kiss to his back served as the answer. It was still so easy to forget that he struggled to hear, and she made him startle more often than not. He claimed it was because her delicate frame floated about a room like a fairy. She's have to remember to approach him from the front. He had unending patience with her and the children as everyone tried to adapt to his semi-deafness, which only made the love for him grow.

The strap fell. Such delicious hills and valleys of muscle as her hand trailed across his back and she stepped around him.

Those blue eyes searched hers, with a slight smile on his lips, as if curious what she was about.

She stroked once between his thighs.

A gasp as his body bucked in reaction and his hands clutched her shoulders. His head fell back. Such a simple touch, and yet his reaction was instant and complete. "Tanya, it's been almost nine months. Don't poke the dragon," he begged.

Stroking a finger along his jaw brought his eyes to hers so he would see the words. "Make love to me," she breathed.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded.

Embarrassment colored his cheeks. "I'll need the light on. I wouldn't be able to see or hear you in the dark if you got frightened."

"I trust you, but I don't mind the light." Raising onto her toes, she guided his head down for a kiss.

His fingers rested on her throat as he kissed and elicited a moan. "Does this frighten you? Just so I can feel your purrs of pleasure since I can't hear them anymore," he whispered between kisses, but the ache of loss was in his tone.

Frightened because the assault had been accompanied by choking and a slit across the throat. His sadness, however, is what hurt and caused a need to soothe his pain. "It doesn't frighten me," she said loud enough for him to hear and let the next moan be louder.

His hands bit into her hips with need as she kissed his neck. "Oh god, I heard you," he gasped and yanked her bodice apart. "I'll buy a new one if I tore it," he panted and quickly stripped her free.

A giggle answered. "You're so eager."

"Giddy that I have a woman who doesn't mind the light or being loud so I can hear her whimpers of pleasure." He grinned and laid her on the bed.

She frowned and captured his face to watch her lips. "Have you been worried about making love because of your hearing?"

Self-consciousness filled his eyes and he couldn't quite look at her. "If you preferred in the dark, I wouldn't know if I was pleasing you—"

"Oh for heaven sakes, you always please me." Then she pulled him down for a kiss, and her back arched with a cry of pleasure as his hand wandered.

* * *

"You shouldn't wake me like that," she panted the next morning.

He rolled off. "Why not?" The man gave a naughty grin and kissed his way down her belly.

"Because the children might hear." She gasped as he reached under the sheets.

"My lady love, I shall have to remember to never have a house close to neighbors, at the risk of them hearing you." Then he rolled her on top to straddle his hips, and he tucked his hands behind his head. "Have your way with me, my Tanya. This way you won't wake the children, and I'll still know if you're pleased."

Her eyes widened at the scandalousness of it.

But her hesitation only made his hands clamp down on her hips and show her what to do.

She collapsed on his chest minutes later. "Mark?"

He tilted her head up to watch her lips.

A shy smile tugged. "I think we sinned."

The man chuckled and stroked her hair, his chest heaving as much as hers. "That was absolutely amazing, wife. You are quite beautiful to watch."

"Hush." She buried her face against his chest in embarrassment.

His fingers gave a lazy stroke up and down her spine. "I'm beginning to not mind this deafness so much. There are surprising benefits to it."

"Scoundrel." Swatting his chest, she sat up and took the sheet with for modesty.

He smiled and sat up to follow, tugging the sheet away. "Let me admire my beautiful wife." His hands skimmed over curves and he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"You can't possibly not be spent," she said loud enough for him to hear, even as her hands fisted in his hair and he stirred embers.

"Yes, but you aren't. I intend to leave my woman completely satisfied," he breathed and laid her down again.

She finally dragged herself out of bed a bit later, her knees wobbly enough to need to hold onto the wall as she clutched the sheets tight to her chest and turned to face him.

He reclined on his side and propped his head in one hand, a rakish smile on his lips. "You look quite thoroughly ravished, my lady love."

Running a hand through her tangled hair, she threw him a look that didn't seem very effective with the dazed, weak-kneed feeling he'd left behind. "You seem to think you're a Casanova. The children need breakfast."

"I'm content to continue exploring my wife until the children wake up. It's only seven."

She frowned and looked at the clock. "It's eight."

A mischievous grin split his lips. "I set the clock ahead so you wouldn't object to me waking you at five."

Her jaw dropped in a silent gasp. "You rake!"

"Yes. Let me show you how much." He slid to the edge of the bed and reached for the sheet.

She batted his hand away but couldn't help but giggle as he reeled her in. Standing between his legs with a hand on his shoulder and the other clasping the sheet to her chest, she looked down at him. "It feels like it's been forever since we had time like this to just play and relax."

He parted the sheet and kissed up her belly. "It has been, my Tanya. Let me have you a bit longer."

"Mamaaaaa!"

Della's voice carried loud enough that Mark must've heard because he sighed and looked up. Happiness glittered in his eyes, in a way it hadn't in a long time. "Let me wake you up at five again tomorrow."

A hot flush rose that made it impossible to hold back the smile. "I suppose I shall not protest."

He grinned and threw her down on the bed, leaving her knees too weak to get up seconds later.

"That's...not fair," she panted and sat up as he strapped on the prosthesis at the edge of the bed.

The man looked over his shoulder. "I have nine months to make up for. I agree, it wasn't fair—I expected to play with you for another hour." Then he pulled on his shirt and pants with a grin and slipped out the door.

* * *

"She'll be behind in size and perhaps a little bit of learning, but she appears fine." He tucked the babe back in the basket.

"Thank you, Dr. Johnson." Relief filled Mr. Theodore's eyes.

Tanya stood on her toes and peeked in the basket on the exam table, with a longing smile in her lips. "Is the wet nurse working out?" She reached in and stroked the babe's cheek with a finger.

God, it hurt to see her eat up every moment with the babe. She managed to be the perfect work partner, the perfect wife, and the perfect mother, yet she wanted to make room for another little one in the family.

The blacksmith shifted his feet. "She...well, I don't know that she's patient with Mary."

Tanya's eyes flew to the man, her look fierce. "She hurts her?"

"No, ma'am, just that Mary seems hungry again even minutes later. I give her goat milk. I can't help but think the wet nurse isn't feeding her all the way and only taking a paycheck."

Oh dear. Taking a step back from Tanya would be safest. Edging back, the door barely missed his nose as she barreled out.

The blacksmith blinked. "Um, where is she going?"

Heaving a sigh, he shrugged on his cape and grabbed Tanya's. "She's going to give the woman what for. Next time, keep your mouth shut and tell me in private."

The winter wind whipped snow, but Tanya didn't appear to feel it because she marched forward. Trotting to catch up, he threw the cape over her shoulders. "Do I dare ask if you need assistance?" he called over the wind.

She threw him a look. Apparently Mama Bear was on the loose.

Upon reaching a house in the lumberyard, she stormed up the steps and barged right through the door.

"Tanya!" He scrambled up the stairs.

An hour later and there was still ringing in the ears from so much women's screeching. He shifted Charles to the opposite leg and glanced up over the children's book to where Tanya rocked a sleeping Della in the library. The wet nurse had been fired, but it clearly still weighed heavily on Tanya's mind about whom would nourish the babe.

"Papa!" Charles shook the book.

"Patience, Charles. What is it?"

Those gray eyes looked up with hurt. "I asked you three times."

A frown pulled. "My apologies, I didn't hear you say anything. What do need?"

"What's th...?" The sound faded away as Charles looked down at the book and pointed.

"Charles, I need you to look at me so I can hear you."

The boy grabbed the book and threw it and then shoved himself to his feet. He spun around with his little fists at his sides in outrage. "You never listen to me anymore!"

"Charles!" Tanya looked up in shock. "Papa's ears got hurt when he was sick! He's not trying to ignore you—"

He held up a hand. "Let him express if he's hurt." Scooting to the edge of the settee, he leaned his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "It makes you feel not important when someone doesn't listen, doesn't it?"

Charles nodded and rubbed at his eyes as he started to cry.

"You and Mama and Della are the most important things in the world to me. Sometimes my ears don't work, and it makes me mad too."

"You're a doctor. Why don't you fix them?" He sniffled.

A sad smile tugged. "Sometimes a doctor can't fix things. Your voice is soft, like Mama's and Della's. A lot of times I can't hear Mama either. When you talk to me, I need you to either grab my hand so I can see your lips to tell what you're saying, or to talk loud so I can hear it."

"Like this!" Charles bellowed.

A chuckle burst out. "Perhaps not quite that loud." The smile faded. "If I don't answer, you come grab my face to look at you. Like this." Capturing both of Charles's hands, he held them on his cheeks. He let go, but Charles didn't.

"Papa?" He leaned his little forehead to touch.

"Yes, my boy?" Such a sweet moment with a son already and brave and kind and intelligent as his mother.

"Did I do a good job reading to you?"

The happiness fled, replaced with grief. There'd been no sound, just flipping pages. But apparently Charles had been trying to read the book to him.

"You did a very good job, Charles," Tanya said, as if reading his expression. "I think Papa would like to hear it again."

Charles grabbed the book and climbed up in his lap.

She held his eyes with a sad expression. "Things will get better as we all learn how to adjust." Then she gave a pointed nod to Charles.

He looked down. Charles's mouth moved and he turned the page, but there was no sound. Tears blurred everything.

"Papa?!" The boy's voice carried a bit too loud.

Brushing at his eyes quickly, he looked down. "Yes, son?"

"Mama said to read louder! Can you hear me?!"

A watery laugh escaped. "I can hear you this time." Giving him a hug, Charles eagerly stumbled through reading the pages.

"The end!" Charles looked up with a proud grin.

His eyebrows shot up and he glanced up at Tanya. "He read."

She smiled. "He's been practicing hard to be able to read books to you if you get sick again."

If that didn't damn well melt a heart. "Oh, my boy. That was very good! Maybe _you_ should read _me_ bedtime stories."

Charles laughed and scrambled down. He dropped to the floor and pulled out several from the shelf. "I'll find a good one!" he shouted.

Tanya winced. "A little bit softer so you don't wake Della, Charles."

But Della lifted her head and rubbed a fist to her eye.

"How's my girl?" Getting up, there was a knock on the door as soon as he reached for her.

"It's probably for you anyways." Tanya's chest heaved, as if she sighed, and kept ahold of the babe.

Everything was so goddamn hard not hearing softer sounds. "Was that a sigh of irritation or disappointment?"

"Both." She looked up as her voice faded into silence but her lips kept moving. "We haven't had time together like this in a while."

"I know. Maybe it's nothing." Setting a hand on her shoulder on the way past, a glance out the window revealed what appeared to be a man dragging a woman back to the door.

Whipping the door open, he snapped, "Get your hands off her!"

Running a hand over his face minutes later, he slammed the clinic door on the way through the house to find Tanya. She wasn't going to like this one bit.

Mark stormed into the library looking like an enraged bull. "Tanya."

Setting Della on the floor to play with books with Charles, she walked to the doorway where Mark waited. "What's wrong?"

"There's a pompous arse who dragged his wife here claiming she has fits of temper and mood swings," he spat.

Her eyebrows rose. "And you sound disgusted because...?"

He snorted. "His manner is giving _me_ fits and mood swings. The batshit bastard is demanding a cliteroidectomy."

Oh dear heaven. "As in Isaac Baker-Brown's theory from the '50s of cutting off a woman's...?"

He nodded. "It's a popular practice in London and apparently has reached here, from what I hear from the university professors. How the hell anyone thinks a heinous act is medicine is beyond me. He's a goddamn moron who will simply drag her to another clinic if I turn him away."

Her stomach dropped. "You're doing it?"

"Of course not," he snapped. Then he glanced at the children and dropped his voice. "Have you heard of hysterical paroxysms?"

When she shook her head, his cheeks flushed.

"Hear me out first. It sounds like he's just doing this because she isn't a meek woman but may have normal mode changes associated with her cycle. She's of very sound mind and has no physical ailment that I can find. Many physicians claim its hysteria in women and even go so far as to institutionalize them. I can give him the hysteria diagnosis to shut him up, but it does mean hysterical paroxysms accompany as treatment, which is no harm to her. Legally, I can't tell her to lie to him and say she had treatment."

She frowned. "So just do it."

His cheeks burned. "Well, I think you might prefer to do it yourself instead of me. Hysterical paroxysms are orgasms."

"What?"

He had the sense to wince at that dry tone. "I can show you stacks of literature that this is considered a real treatment. It's using the hand to do it, nothing more. I'm not exactly comfortable with this because we are wed, and I'm doubtful you'd be comfortable with me doing it either."

"Damn right I'm not!"

"Which is why I wanted to see if you'd be comfortable doing it."

Swallowing down the embarrassment, she searched his eyes. "You'll have to teach me what to do."

He lowered the anatomy book a minute later.

"Have...have you done this before?" Not looking at him would make the answer more bearable.

"When I was in Africa," he said quietly, "there was a woman suffering depression after childbirth. Nothing else worked and the mental ill are treated terribly there. It was the only thing I could think of that wasn't cruel, ineffective treatments. She came twice a week for five months, and it helped get her through until her body righted itself after having a babe. It was nothing sexual any more than when you've seen me need to give a female exam."

She caught his hand to stop the explanation. "I believe you. I'll try it."

"Absolutely not!" The man roared in the clinic. "A female surgeon?! You should horsewhip sense into her! She's just as mad and won't touch my woman!"

Mark stepped forward, his neck red with anger. "You'll do well to watch your mouth," he hissed. "She has saved lives, and yours is getting close to being one of those."

"Fine! I'll take her to Price's surgeon!" He grabbed the woman's wrist.

Horror flashed through the woman's eyes. "No! Please! No!" She sobbed and tried to break free.

Price's quack will butcher the woman, if not kill her with infection. Setting a hand on Mark's arm, she turned so he'd see her lips because looking at him would only bring tears. "Do it." Then she hurried to the door to the house.

"Tanya." He caught her arm in the doorway.

With a shake of her head, she said loud enough for him to hear over the woman's sobs, "She won't survive the barber. Do it." Then she shut the door.

Theresa looked up from her chair in the library with the children. "Done with your procedure already?"

Procedure. If only Theresa knew what Mark was doing, to have someone at all to talk to. Tears threatened. "Not quite. Can you stay a few more minutes?"

She nodded.

Charles came barrelling over. "Mama?"

Blinking back the tears, she knelt. "Yes, Charles?"

His little finger wiped a tear just as it fell. Then he gave a soft kiss on the cheek. "There. You're not sad anymore." He smiled.

Forcing a smile, she kissed his brow. "Thank you. Go play with your train."

He ran back to Della and the toys, and she shut the door to keep out any sound.

Hurrying to the bedchamber before the children saw more tears, she shut the door.

A soft cry of pleasure came through the wall that hurt to hear so much that tears fell. But it was the low murmur of Mark's voice saying something, followed by another gasp, that made a sob burst out.

Scrambling for the door so fast that she nearly fell, she yanked it open and ran up the steps. Anywhere to escape hearing another woman pleasured by his touch.

It felt like a panic, a madness—darting from room to room upstairs trying to escape the growing cries of pleasure.

His stomach clenched tighter walking into the house. The woman hadn't been quiet and hadn't finished quickly, despite attempts to get it over with as fast as possible because Tanya would no doubt be upset.

Quickly crossing the house, he whipped open the library door where she must be cocooned in with the children for comfort.

The children and Theresa looked up. "Theresa? Where's Tanya?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought she went back to you. Is the patient alright? It sounded like she was in a lot of pain."

Oh god, Tanya had heard. "Yes, she's fine now."

"Papa?" Charles frowned. "Mama was sad. I gave her a kiss."

And probably in tears. He had to find her. "That's a good boy. I'll be right back."

Hurrying to the bedchamber revealed nothing. Stepping into the dumbwaitor, the rope wouldn't pull fast enough to get upstairs like he could've with two legs. Each moment she was missing brought more and more worry over how heartbroken she must be.

Not in the children's room either. "Tanya?" The empty room intended for more children that would never be had the door closed at the far end of the hall, opposite of the clinic. Trotting to it as his heart pounded faster, he barged through. And it was hard not to sink to his knees with heartbreak.

She sat in the far corner of the room with her knees curled up to her chest, head bowed, and arms folded over her knees in a way that covered her ears. Her soft sobs brought unbearable pain.

He walked over. "Tanya?" He laid a hand on the wall to get down on the floor with her, but she flew upright and flung her arms around his neck.

Her entire body trembled with distress.

"Shhh, sweetheart. What are you doing in here?" The empty room of all places that broke her heart.

"It w,was the only...one where I couldn't hear her," she sobbed.

Looking up at the ceiling didn't stop the tears from welling as he held her tight. "There was nothing sexual or arousing for me. My mind was on how hard you may've been taking it and getting back to you."

"What did you say to her during it?" Her small frame shuddered trying to breathe between the sobs.

Oh god, she _had_ heard just about everything. "I lied and told her the treatment would work better if she was quiet. I kept her skirts down and didn't even look at her. I'm faithful to you, Tanya. I told her how to do it herself and advised once a month to hopefully placate him. She shouldn't be back for this, and I won't do it again if she comes."

"But—"

"He may take her to the barber anyways. I won't destroy us." He pressed a kiss to her hair.

She sniffled and pulled back enough that he wiped her soaked cheeks. "If this was another desperate case of depression or illness, I think it'd bother me less." Her face crumpled. "I just...hearing your voice in the middle of it was just too much."

The tears fell freely and he sniffled. "Tanya, I promise that I was and am so worried about you that I seriously doubt I can have a physical reaction right now. There was not one sexual thought—"

"I know. I trust you. It was just...awful."

"I know, sweetheart. Let's go back down with the children and spend time together."

"Mark?" She said softly in bed that evening and slid her small body on top and peeled off her nightgown. "I need it to be just you and me." A need for love to heal the pain reflected in her eyes.

His fingers laced with hers. "It's always just you and me, my lady love." A kiss sealed the promise as his hands buried in her long locks. But it didn't cause a need like it should've.

Minutes later, he lifted his head. "Tanya, I don't think tonight will work." She was being so patient, and this was damn embarrassing.

"You're in your head, aren't you? Relax and give yourself time." Her hands caressed his chest and neck.

"I keep thinking about you sobbing and—"

She guided his hand down and ran a leg up his. "Then let my pleasure help you find yours," she purred.

"Tanya, I can't," he whispered minutes later and kissed down her body.

Dear god, she was flushed and slightly sleepy and purring like a cat, stretched out on top of the sheets in the candlelight for his eyes to feast upon. She was absolutely gorgeous, and her body rose in a graceful arc as he played the strings that made her pleasure. She offered every inch of her body, every reaction to his touch, to the candlelight for his pleasure alone.

"Then have me as you will," she whispered and responded again to a caress.

"My god, you're exquisite," he breathed and kissed her thigh. A fleeting ember lit and then died.

"Mark, I need you," she gasped and her hands clutched fistfuls of the sheets at her sides.

Something snapped. There was suddenly an instant, consuming need to claim her immediately.

"How did you know?" he asked minutes later in the tub.

She shrugged with a smile. "A woman knows her husband." But her smile faded as she reclined in his lap and leaned back to look up. Her mouth moved, but no sound came. Sadness clouded her eyes.

"Sweetheart, I can't see your mouth enough to know what you said."

Her voice raised a bit. "Did your father shame you for expressing your feelings?"

A frown tugged. What an odd question. "Why do you ask?"

"You're better than when we first wed, but you try so hard sometimes to hide your sentiments. Yet when Charles was angry with you, you didn't stop him from yelling at you." She turned a little bit more to face him in the small space.

He sighed. "He didn't beat me, but there were plenty of days in isolation and without food in the nursery room. My mother would sneak in at night and bring me food and hold me when I'd cry from the dark...until one night my father caught her and dragged her out." The door slammed on that terrible memory. "She didn't come again for nearly a week, and she moved slowly." His voice hardened. "I think he beat her for it. From then on, I learned that expressing sentiment meant being locked away to 'man up,' which meant my mother risked herself trying to sneak in. I don't think I cried from the time I got lost in the woods that night until Anna died." He gave her a dry look. "But you seem to drag it out almost weekly, woman."

Her arms wrapped around from an awkward angle. "It's good for you. You're a sentimental man, but I shall keep your secret. The men at the lumberyard seem to respect but also fear you." A smile played on her lips.

An eyebrow cocked in warning. "And it shall remain that way. No one will tamper with a man's wife or children when they fear his wrath."

She giggled as he scooped her up to curl across his lap. "Such a fierce dragon his is," she smiled and trailed a finger down his cheek.

"Best you remember that," he growled. "The bath is growing cold, and you have chills." He slipped her over the edge and onto her feet. "Put on a towel and fetch my crutches."

That beautiful face fell. "We're going to bed?"

"No, wife, we're going to the library where I can warm you by the fire. Should I had to seduce you to warm your blood, so be it."

Happiness shined in her eyes. "Yes, Mark."

He held up a finger. "And I don't want to hear a word of protest."

"No, Mark." A shy smile bloomed on her face.

Anticipation mounted waiting for a saucy response. When none came forth, he prodded. "Snap to it, woman, unless you wish to irk my temper with your disobedience."

Her head bowed with a grin as she wrapped a towel around herself. "No, Mark."

He scowled. The woman wasn't being any fun at this usual game of wits. "Do not even think of giving me sass."

"No, Mark. I heard you—I'm to submit to your throws of passion on a bed of seduction and only let you hear my cries of pleasure."

He blinked. She was certainly bold in her sass.

Then she handed over a towel and continued. "I have demands of my own, husband."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. She never made demands.

"Before you ravish me to oblivion, we will lie by the fire and talk of nothing and everything like we used to and then I'll fall asleep in your arms before the fire after we make love."

It sounded entirely perfect and romantic.

She snapped her fingers. "Stop dawdling, Mark," she ordered.

Hauling himself up, he frowned with a haughty look that made even the King of England shrink back. "You snap your fingers at me?"

Her head wiggled with sass as she raised her brow. "I shall snap my fingers if I please when you simply gawk instead of do my bidding."

"Is that so?" Don't smile, it would ruin her lovely self-confidence. "Must I remind you that I'm the head of this household—"

"And I'm the neck, husband. I simply let you think you run everything when I'm actually the one telling you where to look." Her lips pursed with a threatening smile as she set her hands on her hips over the towel.

Speechlessness finally hit.

The minx smiled, set his crutches against the tub, and then sashayed toward the library.

Scrambling to wrap the towel around his waist and step out of the tub, he called, "Wait, don't truly do that, do you?"

She stopped with one hand on the doorframe and gave a knowing grin. "Don't I?" Her laughter followed her out.

His jaw dropped. "You little minx, come back here, woman! Do you do that?" He hurried after her on the crutches.

The woman turned in the library when he caught up. With a sultry smile, she trailed a finger down his chin. "Husband, there are some things a woman never tells."


	58. Chapter 58

Lowering the journal from where he sat in the corner of the clinic, it was hard to not watch her over the rim of the reading glasses. Yet again, Tanya gave a wide girth around the back corner hospital bed as she went into the clinic storage room. It was the spot farthest from the house—perhaps it's how she correctly guessed that's where the hysteria treatment had occurred.

When she came out, her eyes sidled to the bed but wouldn't look at it straight on. Again she kept far from it. Then her eyes returned to the items in hand as she walked over.

"Mark, these..." She looked up and stilled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her shoulders squared and eyes darted away, seeming to know exactly what he referenced. "There's nothing else to talk about."

Setting down the journal, he pulled off the reading glasses. It was hard to watch her struggle with this. "You think about it every time you pass the bed. Maybe it'd be good for you to just stay home with the children today and tomorrow."

Those sad brown eyes fell to the medicine jars in her hands. Her mouth opened and then closed, as if second guessing her words. Then she looked up and spoke so softly that her voice didn't break through the silence.

 _Does it bother you? I don't know how to just get over it._

Standing up, he walked around the desk, set the jars down, and then took her hands. "It does bother me and I don't want to think about it, but I also know that just shoving it away isn't the same as getting past it. Neither of us will just 'get over it.' I imagine it's only natural for you wonder if I left any details out, or if she might've looked at me a certain way for a split instant, or if I had a fleeting sexual thought or instinctual reaction. The answer is no to all of it, and it's alright if you need me to reassure you of it."

Her head bowed and she swallowed hard. Slim hands tightened in his. "I know it's a legitimate 'treatment' and you did it because there were no other good options and he would've hurt her...I just...I thought that last night would help make it all go away." Holding a hand to her forehead, she looked up as her face crumpled. "I trust you, I just...there are moments when I'm angry with you and I don't understand why. I know I told you to do it, and I'd probably say the same thing again because you're a good man and try to do whatever you can to help people. But...there are moments when it feels like you weren't faithful, but I know it's not true. It makes no sense and I'm so confused." Silent tears of pain slipped down her face as her head sank to rest her forehead against his chest and she clutched firstfuls of his shirt.

Protectiveness surged. The fact that she sought comfort from him, being her source of pain—pain that she didn't even understand, made it the more important to help her through this.

His arms wrapped around to cocoon her. "I'm confused too because I feel guilty like I betrayed you. After you fell asleep last night, I just held you and wept."

Her head tilted up and eyes brimmed with concern. "Why?"

"Because I'm ashamed that I did it and that it hurt you. Tanya, there was so much guilt during the treatment that I almost left several times." Tears blurred her. "When I was wed to Anna and had to do it for that woman who had depression, it didn't bother me because it seemed so black and white. It was a last-ditch attempt because she was becoming so severely depressed and nothing else worked. And I didn't feel as strongly for Anna as I do for you. Seeing how much it's tearing you apart is so hard, but I want you to let me help you through it."

"You said beforehand that you were uncomfortable doing it. Did you feel like you had to?"

"I could've sent her away," he said quietly, but it was impossible to look her in the eye and tell a lie. "I couldn't let her go be butchered, but yet it wasn't safe for you to do it with him near. I didn't put you first, Tanya..."

She set her hands on his chest in a way that made the need to protect her be his sole purpose in life.

"But I didn't want you to not do it, Mark. You're about honor and equality and strength. I will get through this with you, but she would've been sent away for him to... You wouldn't have forgiven yourself because you're a good man. That is putting me first—to be the man who does what is right rather than easy. That's what builds my trust in you to be able to fall into a situation like this and know in my heart that you were faithful. I wouldn't have walked out of here if I didn't trust you. I just...I don't know why I'm upset." She laid her head against his chest.

"I think because it's something that we normally view as an act of intimacy and making love. It meant none of that, sweetheart. Logically, we both know there was a treatment and nothing more, but emotionally we're both still trying to work through it. I love you and only you, and I would never be unfaithful."

"I know."

"I know that you know, but it's good for you to hear me say it, my Tanya."

Patients showed up and kept her busy the rest of the day, but her eyes said that her mind wasn't completely in the room.

* * *

A few days later, there was a knock on the clinic door. Mark finished stitching up a man's arm, so she answered.

Two women, familiar from the new group of lumberyard workers who'd arrived yesterday on the train, stood there.

"May I help you?"

One woman looked embarrassed and the other glanced around and said quietly, "We were told there's a surgeon here who treats hysteria?"

Her eyebrows rose. "No, you were misinformed."

The quiet woman whispered, "Are you certain? My physician in London prescribed it for my headaches, and it actually works."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you'll have to deal with headaches like the rest of us," she said sweetly, thinly veiling the sarcasm.

"Is everything alright?" Mark came to the door.

The two women looked him up and down and blushed with knowing smiles.

She threw an arm out to lean on the doorframe and block him. "Just fine. They were leaving." Stepping back into Mark and forcing him back, she slammed the door.

"What on earth? Did you just slam the door on a patient?" He blinked.

Propping her hands on her hips, she threw him a look. "I did and you'll have to fight me to get to the damn door."

His eyebrows rose. "Um, alright. What did they need?"

"Oh, they needed treatment for hysteria," she said innocently and batted her eyes. "From a big strong man."

One black eyebrow shot to the sky. "What?"

She pointed to the door. "I'm screening your calls the rest of the week, and as your business partner, I reserve the right to slam the door on whomever I see fit. Women aren't coming to whore themselves to my husband!"

Mark's eyes went straight over her head, his expression completely professional. "Come back in two weeks for the stitches to come out, Mr. Baker," he said.

The man glanced from her to Mark and back, his face bright red. "Yes, Doc. Thank you." He quickly darted out the door.

Her jaw dropped. "You could've said he was right there!"

He burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, I think anyone within fifty yards heard you." He pressed a kiss to her brow. "You can screen my calls, but do try to refrain from slamming the door and breaking someone's nose."

She batted him away. "Oh, it's funny when it's about you, but every time the blacksmith comes around the fun and games are out the window."

A scowl marred his features. "That's entirely different. He's interested in _you_ ; women are only interested in my hand." He snorted trying not to laugh on the last part.

"You're more than welcome to warm your own bed with your hand, Dr. Johnson," she spat and started cleaning up the supplies from the suturing.

"Ooh, in a bit of a mood today, Mrs. Johnson? We talked about it that I won't do any kind of hysteria treatment again. You have nothing to be jealous of, sweetheart."

"I _am_ in a bit of a mood today, Dr. Johnson!" she snapped and snatched up the trash and yanked one out of his hand. "Perhaps I have hysteria and should be prescribed treatment before I thrash you!"

His brow snapped together, as if completely befuddled. "Is this some kind of way of telling me I should bed you?"

"No! I don't want you to touch me!" Storming over to the trash can, she hurled everything into it. "If quacks are prescribing this for any damn ailment under the sun and rumors are flying that you treat hysteria, women from everywhere are going to come crawling like spiders! I don't want you touching anyone again!"

"Whoa! Tanya, calm down. I'm not going to touch anyone. What's going on?" He set a hand on her back.

She pushed his hand off and stepped back, the anger morphing into the worry it actually was. Her hand settled on her belly. "I'm late."

All emotion dropped right off his face. Silence. And it dragged on. He turned away and ran a hand through his hair.

Swallowing hard, she walked to the house door and softly shut it from behind.

The children ran past with screams of delight and Brigands crawled out of the library on all fours with a growl. "The bear is coming!" He looked up and his face turned red. "Mistress!" The man tried to get up.

A smile took hold. "No, don't let me interrupt. The children look like they're having fun."

"Roar!" Grandfather came crawling out on all fours too.

The children laughed and ran around the kitchen table.

Teresa poked her head out of the kitchen. "Your job was to keep them out of here! I'm going to have the oven on to make bread! Oh!" Her face reddened. "I thought I'd make myself useful. Your grandparents stopped by, so your grandmama and I are starting dinner so you don't have to work and then cook."

"Thank you."

All heads turned when the clinic door opened.

"Tan— Oh. Everyone's here. Hello. Tanya, may I speak with you?"

She followed him into the empty clinic and waited until he shut the door. "There's nothing to talk about. We'll wait and see if—"

"How did this happen?! We've been using protection!" He shoved a hand through his hair again.

"And you know that's not a guarantee. You've been climbing on me two or three times a night sometimes, which I don't know how you're even physically capable of that much—"

"This can't happen!" he exclaimed in distress, as if not even listening.

"Mark, just forget about it. I shouldn't have said anything yet."

His hand dropped and he looked at her. "I don't mean to go crazy on you." He caught her hand. "I'm glad you told me because I don't want you trying to handle this on your own. I'm just worried. How late are you?" His eyes narrowed, as if trying to remember dates.

Slipping her hand free, she shook her head. "Not late enough to tell anything for certain. It's fine and probably nothing. I'll let you know when my time comes."

But his arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close. The fingertips of his other hand touched her cheek. "You aren't in this alone. If there is a babe, we'll figure out how to keep you both safe and well. If there's not, I'm going to be right here to wait it out with you."

Releasing a soft sigh, she searched his eyes. "We've been so busy and finally had time for us, and I lost track of the days. I'm nine days late."

His expression remained calm. "And you haven't had late months with weaning Della?"

She shook her head.

"Alright. If there is a babe, you'd be just past five weeks. We'll give it another week or two and then do an exam. You feel fine?"

A flush crept up.

He failed at suppressing a smile. "Besides wanting to slam doors in faces and throttle me?"

"It doesn't mean I'm with child. There are plenty of days when I simply want to throttle you."

"It's called marriage, sweetheart. Alright, let me know if you have pains or—"

"I know, I know. I'm wed to an obstetrics professor." She cocked an eyebrow.

The man brushed a kiss over her lips. "You were half the reason why I wanted to be there. We have enough patient load that I think it's best to resign at the end of the semester. Plus, I wouldn't leave my wife in a delicate condition home alone all day twice a week."

"My grandparents and Brigands and Teresa are here." She frowned.

"And lucky for you, you wed an obstetrics physician. I shall work at the clinic where I'm closer to you and the children."

* * *

"Deep breath. With the next contraction, push." Mark coached a lumberyard worker's wife through labor.

"I...can't...get two...out," the woman panted and held tight to her hand.

She bathed the woman's brow. "We'll do one twin at a time. Dr. Johnson will take care of everything."

Mark remained as calm as ever as he worked between the woman's legs. "Relax as best you can. The more tense your muscles are, the more you're fighting the contractions," he said in a soothing tone. "Here comes the head. Push!"

"Stop, stop, stop! Just wait a moment," he ordered and his hands flew struggling to do something.

Peeking over the sheet, her heart stilled. The babe was blue and Mark struggled to free the umbilical chord from the neck.

"Tanya, be ready to take the babe," he whispered and gave her a quick glance of concern. His fingers kept slipping. He grabbed the scissors and got it under the chord at the back of the tiny head. "Push as hard as you can when I tell you." He cut the chord and scrambled to get the babe out.

She took the babe in a towel as he quickly tied the chord on the mother's end.

"Tie that and clear the airway," he whispered, his hands flying to be ready to take the babe.

After tying the umbilical chord, she suctioned clear the airway. The babe didn't breathe. She leaned down to blow air into him.

"No!"

Mark's shout startled her as much as the laboring woman. He wiped his hands and then took the babe. "You don't need exposure to anything if you are with child," he whispered. "Keep her calm until she's ready to birth the twin. Check for a heartbeat." He took the babe to the far end of the room and set him on a dresser where he started chest compressions.

"Is the baby alright?" The woman tried to sit up.

She caught her by the shoulders. "He's taking care of the babe. You must rest until the other babe is ready to come in a few minutes."

"What's wrong? Why isn't he giving me my baby?!"

Grabbing the woman's hands, she held her eyes. "The chord was around the neck during birth, and Dr. Johnson is helping him recover. It's a boy."

Tears fell down the woman's face. "A boy? My Harry wanted a son. He'll be alright?"

She glanced back at Mark, who administered an injection into the heart as a desperate attempt. The babe likely wasn't going to be alright. Shoving down the tears, she turned to the woman and grabbed the stethoscope. "Are the labor pains coming yet?" A strong heartbeat from the twin.

The woman started to weep. "He's dead, isn't he? He killed him!"

She blinked at the woman's sudden outburst.

A bang against the wall.

Spinning around, her feet anchored in shock as the husband burst into the room and threw a fist into Mark's face in the middle of compressions.

Mark slammed against the far wall and shook his head, as if dazed.

"You killed our son?!" The man charged at Mark.

"No! He might still be able to be saved! Y—" she called in a panic.

The husband grabbed Mark by the throat and pinned him against the wall.

Shooting over, she took over compressions on the tiny body. "Stop! Your wife is still birthing and she and your children desperately need a surgeon! The babe came out blue already!"

"Get out! I'm sending for Price's doctor! Get out!" The large man had no trouble throwing Mark to the floor.

A tiny cry filled the air.

Everyone stilled.

The babe sucked in another breath and let out a weak cry.

Picking up the babe, she angled him downward to drain out fluid and rubbed his back as Mark had taught to stimulate respirations.

Mark climbed to his feet and held up his hands. "It's a common problem during childbirth. He'll be alright if we can make sure he's getting enough air. Your wife should deliver the next babe any minute—"

He grabbed Mark's neck collar. "You don't touch them. That woman saved him, and she brings out the next one," he hissed, pointing right at her.

Her eyebrows rose. "Sir, he did all the work, the babe was almost breathing already."

The wife let out a cry of pain.

"My wife—" Mark was silenced with a hand around the throat.

"Stop! Alright, I'll deliver the babe, but I need him to help me." She slowly stepped closer.

The man released Mark but took the babe himself.

Another cry from the woman, and she slowly backed away from the husband toward the wife. "I need you to let him help so we can help her. He doesn't have to touch anyone. Can you help me and go keep the babe warm in the other room? I can't hear this babe's heartbeat with that one crying," she said calmly. The man was a loose cannon and needed to get out of the room.

"I'll stay here and watch." The man stood near the doorway. When the babe continued to wail, he gave Mark another look in warning and left.

She got tools ready as Mark approached.

"It's not safe here," he breathed. "You need to get out."

"I'm the one keeping you from getting your head bashed in," she mouthed to him.

"Touch as little as possible to avoid catching anything," he whispered.

Thankfully the labor was fast and easy.

She wrapped the newborn girl and handed her to the mother.

Stepping out of the house minutes later, she sank onto the neighbor's porch.

"Are you alright?" Mark hurried over with his bag.

"Yes, I think it's just nerves. I'm a bit dizzy."

He snorted. "I wonder why. I thought he was going to murder us." His fingertips touched the pulse in her neck. "Your heart is beating a bit slow. Lie down." He eased her back and sat on the steps himself. "Any shortness of breath?"

She shook her head. "Nerves." She held up a shaking hand.

His hands wrapped around it and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "It's alright. Thank you for rescuing me, by the way."

A smile tugged. "You're going to have quite the black eye by morning."

He shrugged. "He's not the first husband who has punched me for seeing his wife or thinking I did something wrong. Are you feeling better? Your color is still off."

She nodded and pushed herself up. "Let's get..." Except spots monopolized everything. Mark's voice sounded so very far away. Everything went black.

Gentle jostling. A steady thud under her ear.

Her eyes fluttered open. She was in Mark's arms as he walked toward home, his heartbeat strong and steady against her cheek.

"Oh, thank God," he sighed with relief. "I couldn't find anything wrong, but I'm doing a full exam at the clinic. Do you feel alright?"

"Yes, just a bit shaky."

"I suspect it's pregnancy wreaking havoc on you, but we'll double check." He walked up the ramp to the front door of the house and turned to go to the clinic.

"No, Mark, I just need to rest—"

"My other set of clean OB tools are in the clinic. There aren't any other patients, so I'll simply check you quick there."

Once he pulled together several dividers for complete privacy, he pushed her skirts aside and laid a sheet over. But he stilled for a split instant.

"What's wrong?"

He eased onto the bed and softly palpated her belly. "Do you have any pain or odd sensation in your belly?"

"A full feeling like when with Della and Charles. Why?"

"It can be completely normal early in pregnancy. There's a little bit of pink bleeding. Either you're time is getting ready, or it's simply a light version of menses during pregnancy."

"But, I've never had pink bleeding, with or without child." She rose onto her elbows in a panic. "Is it a miscarriage?"

"Lie back and relax. Let me examine you and see if we can tell if there's any sign of pregnancy."

Taking a deep breath, she laid down. "You know that you shouldn't tell women to relax. You're either jamming something in us or we're shoving something out when you say it. A woman is going to slap you one day," she snapped.

He cracked a smile. "Alright, I'll remember that. Does it hurt when I press?"

"It's uncomfortable. Dammit, Mark, just tell me if there's a babe!"

The clinic door burst open. "Doc! There's something wrong with him! Doc!"

"I'll be right back." Mark darted out from behind the dividers.

There was a lot of banging and choking sounds. Pulling down her dress, she got up.

"Tanya!"

A man helped Mark get Theodore to the table. Something dark and awful smelling covered his shirtfront.

"Tanya, prep for volvulus," he ordered and shoved a basin at Theodore just in time for more vomiting—of feces.

Intestinal torsion. And it had a high mortality rate.

"Open a window and stand outside while I sedate him," Mark ordered seconds later. "We have to do surgery. Where exactly is the pain?"

The blacksmith pointed to his upper stomach, his body bathed in perspiration as he panted through the agony.

With a frown of confusion, she stepped outside into the cold while Mark sedated the man. She'd never had to wait outside before.

He stumbled to the door and threw out the rag. "Dear god, he's so huge that we need to let the room air out." He held the doorframe.

She slipped under his arm. "We don't need the surgeon unconscious. Come into the fresh air more."

Mark held tight and drew deep breaths. "If he starts to wake up, you put the rag on his face and leave." His legs started to firm up. Then he met her eyes. "We don't need you and any babe exposed to chloroform."

Even though it wasn't a surprise, it took a moment to sink in.

A soft smile touched his lips. "It's a bit early to tell, but your womb is slightly swollen."

* * *

"Della was supposed to have a twin. Tanya was in tears from pain because I had to hack her open, and then she nearly needed a hysterectomy after surgery for the hemorrhaging." Mark's voice traveled from the kitchen.

Rolling over in bed, she glanced at the clock. Midnight.

"She's strong and you'll look after her closely. You must stop blaming yourself for the tumor because we don't know what caused it." Brigands's voice carried in.

"That's right. This could very well be a smooth pregnancy," Grandfather answered.

She frowned. Mark had left bed to bring both of them over and announce the babe in the middle of the night? He must be quite distressed. Slipping on a shawl, she then toed on slippers to ward off the winter night chill.

"If I may, sir, I think she'll be very upset to hear after the fact that you had surgery," Brigands said.

"I agree. It's an experimental surgery that affects both of you. She isn't automatically in mortal danger because of a pregnancy." Grandfather spoke rather sternly.

She opened the door and stepped into the kitchen where they sat in nightclothes at the table with a lantern.

They all stood, but it was Mark who looked the least pleased to see her.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I see my husband has dragged everyone from their beds to announce the babe and hold a meeting."

Brigands bit back a smile at her sarcasm, Grandfather frowned, and Mark scowled.

Folding her hands, she met their gazes. "Let me sum it up so we can get to bed. This pregnancy, if that's even what it is, has yet to cause morning sickness, which I take a sign that maybe this one will go as it should; Mark needs to stop blaming himself for Della's pregnancy complications; and he will not be having any surgery. Did I miss anything?"

"You were not invited to this and will return to bed," Mark growled.

"Mm. Shall we transplant the babe into your body? Oh, we can't, so this does involve me. I can't stop you from having surgery, but I don't have to help you recover from your own idiocy or share the marriage bed ever again."

Brigands and Grandfather blushed, but approval shined in their eyes.

"Woman," Mark warned.

"Your growls do not faze me, husband. I may be smaller in size, but it is the only area in which I cannot match you. If you shall insist on this idiocy, you'll have to handle any fallout on your own." She stood there with a haughty look that dared him to challenge.

"Go to bed," he ground out.

She stepped toward Grandfather and Brigands with her hands out to usher them. "Your wives no doubt will worry if they wake up to you missing. We shall see you in the morning."

They each gave her a kiss on the cheek at the door, with knowing smiles on their lips.

"Do take him to task a bit, Granddaughter. Get these notions out of his head," he whispered.

"Oh, I intend to give him a thorough tongue lashing."

She closed the door and returned to the kitchen where Mark appeared ready to burst with anger. "Before you shout, may I remind you that it's the middle of the night and two children are sleeping?"

"Don't you act condescending!" He hissed and thrust a finger toward the floor. "Pardon me for being worried that my wife's life could be in danger!"

Rolling her eyes, she herded him toward the bedchamber. "Stop being melodramatic. I am perfectly fine. You're the one at risk for a heart attack from your nerves. Most every complication from Della was due to the tumor—"

He whirled around and planted his foot and the crutches so she couldn't push him forward. "And how do you know there won't be another tumor?! That there isn't something wrong with my seed that will cause it every time!" he roared.

For a split instant, fear clawed. There had been so much pain from surgery and then the next day so much blood had soaked the sheets before fighting unconsciousness from the blood loss, not knowing if she'd wake up again and Mark's face so white and fear stricken as he'd begged her to stay awake. And then more pain from a second emergency surgery.

Della's wail broke into the memories.

He swallowed hard, as if regretting the words. "I'm sorry, I don't want you to be afraid—"

"But secretly you do so I'll agree to the surgery." Spinning on her heel, she marched out and to the stairs.

"Dammit, Tanya, don't take the stairs," he snapped, following her out.

"I'm so angry with you that I damn well am taking the stairs to get away," she barked and started climbing.

"Mama!" Charles called.

Mark cursed.

Picking up Della, she sat on the edge of Charles's bed. "Loves, it's alright. Go back to sleep." She stroked Charles's hair and held Della against her shoulder.

"Mama boom."

It was her way of saying Mark shouted.

"I know, love. Papa was mad and didn't mean to wake you."

The dumbwaiter bell rang and Mark appeared in the doorway a moment later. He came over and sat next to her near the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to take her?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

An odd twinge in her belly. Mark said something to Charles. Her lower back ached. Shifting, she moved Della to the other arm.

Mark set a hand on her back.

Another moment passed and that full feeling in her belly didn't feel quite as prominent.

"Tanya? I asked if you're alright?" Mark's voice cut into the thoughts.

Something didn't feel right.

"Take Della." She gave a kiss and handed the babe over and then kissed Charles.

Mark looked confused but took Della.

The children finally fell asleep, but Tanya didn't return.

Taking the dumbwaitor downstairs didn't reveal her in the bedchamber, kitchen, or library. That left the washroom.

Soft sniffles came from insight. A feeling of dread hit. "Sweetheart? Are you alright?"

The door slowly opened. The moment she looked up with a tear stained face, the grief hit. There was no baby anymore, if there ever had been.

It took no more encouragement than holding out a hand for her to throw herself into his arms. "It's alright, my Tanya." Turning to lean against the wall for balance and set aside the crutches to hold her closer was the only thing to offer as she wept.

"It felt different like a babe. Then it suddenly felt empty," she wept against his chest.

"There wasn't a babe. If your time came this early, there couldn't have been a babe," he lied. She didn't need to know that it might be a miscarriage. The sooner a vasectomy could happen, the better for her.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?!" Storming into the clinic at six in the morning two days later, she let the door bang against the wall.

The professor had his sleeves rolled up and scrubbed at the sink, and Mark sat up in a hospital bed with a bag of ice between his legs. Both looked up in startled surprise.

"You had better damn well not have done any chopping," she snapped and matched over. Jerking the ice from his hand and yanking up the sheet and not finding any blood calmed the anger—a fraction. Dropping the sheet, she also dropped the ice in his lap.

He yelped and snatched the ice off. "What are you doing up?" The man had the nerve to scowl.

Setting her hands on her hips, she glared. "You shut up—you've proved your idiocy." Then she spun around to the wide-eyed professor. "And you! I expect some moronic stunt like this from him, but you know better! Go!"

"Mrs. Johnson, I'm afraid only your husband has authority—"

She pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare tell me only he can halt you because he's a man! He's clearly not of sound mind! As his next of kin, I say you're done!"

"Tanya, that's enough! _You_ will leave!" Mark ordered.

Whirling, she snatched the ice bag from between his legs and hurled it on the floor. It burst apart, just like her heart. "No! You do not get to do this!" Tears fell. "I'm not stupid! You said my womb was swollen! I know it might be a miscarriage! You do not get to decide no more babes when I'm still bleeding from this!"

"Tanya," he said softly and reached for his pants.

The tears threatened to escalate into sobs. "No! You do not get to take blame for this and Della! You do not get to pretend you know for certain I can't have more babes!"

"You almost died several times with Della," he said quietly but didn't move to put on his pants.

He was going to have a surgery that could never be reversed.

"My job is to keep you safe, whether you like it or not," he added gently.

He was going to do it.

Bursting into gut-wrenching sobs not only over the loss but the betrayal, she hurried out.

Locking herself in the children's bedchamber and listening to their soft breathing of slumber as she wept into a pillow offered the closest possibility to solace.

Mark remained gone for a long time.

"Mama?" A little hand touched her shoulder.

Sniffling, she lifted her head from where she sat on the floor.

Charles's hair was mussed and his eyes worried. "Did you have a bad dream?" He climbed into her lap and cuddled. "I won't let the monsters get you."

It felt so good to hold him. "I argued with Papa and it made me sad," she whispered.

His head popped up with a smile. "I'll get Papa. He'll say sorry." He shot out the door in the blink of an eye.

"No, Charles!"

But the rapid patter of barefeet on the floor said he was already down the steps. "Papa! Papa!"

Della's little head arched up as she stretched and rubbed her eyes. Then she collapsed in sleep again.

Charles ran upstairs and burst in. "I can't find Papa!"

"Shhh, he's at work."

But Della rolled over in bed and whined, "Nigh-night!"

Charles darted to her bed. "Mama's crying."

"No, Charles, let her sleep."

But Della sat up and rubbed a chubby little fist to her eye. "Mama cry?"

He dropped to his knees and got her leg brace out from under the bed. Then he started trying to put it on.

"Loves, let me put it on." She got up and worked on strapping it.

"Mama cry?" Della looked up, her little brow wrinkled in concern.

"Mama's better," she said and brushed away any remaining tears. Her head pounded and eyes felt swollen, but the fib would have to be enough to placate the children.

The connecting clinic door closed downstairs.

"It's Papa!" Charles shot out, and Della wiggled out of bed and tottered after him.

A sense of dread twisted her stomach in knots. Having to face Mark would mean facing that there would never be another babe. Her hand drifted to her belly. Cruel fate had made sure she felt the cramping and pain of an empty womb at the same time Mark ensured it would never swell and fill with another kick again. If only her body could've worked right, Mark would never have done this. A wave of grief so strong hit that it was hard to breathe.

The dumbwaiter began to creek with ascent.

It was too painful to face him yet.

Getting up, she went down the stairs and out the front door.


	59. Chapter 59

His hand froze on the rope the moment she exited the children's room. She didn't look his way, but her face was visible enough to see her swollen eyes, red nose, and tear stained cheeks. In five years of marriage, he'd never seen her in such a state—because never had she wept that hard. The shock of it froze him, unable to do anything but watch her disappear out the front door into the cold without a cloak.

"Papa?" Charles tugged his pant leg. "Let's get Mama!" He pointed to the door.

"Mama!" Della squealed in delight beside her brother in the dumbwaiter.

The shock riveted his eyes to the door. "I think Mama wants to be alone, son." It hadn't been since the early days of marriage that she'd gone out of her way to avoid him so. And he'd well deserved it then. An unnerving feeling settled that he'd just done something that deeply hurt her...and inflicted damage on the marriage that he'd come to deeply regret as a grave error.

* * *

Reclined in the library with blessed ice between the legs, it was hard to not continuously glance from the window to the clock again as the children played on the floor. Nearly two hours she'd been gone. Besides the fact that she had left without a cloak, the longer she stayed away meant the more hurt she was.

Footsteps on the front porch. The door creaked open.

Charles and Della shot up. "Mama! Mama! We found Papa!"

Forcing himself to sit up, he swung his leg over the edge of the settee to be able to see the doorway.

The children dragged her by the hands, but she planted her feet in the doorway as her eyes landed on the ice. She immediately looked away, but not fast enough to hide her face crumple. She dropped to one knee and looked at the children. "My head hurts, so I'm going to lie down. You go play for a bit." Her voice broke. Even from this distance it was easy to see her eyes glisten with tears.

Dear god, seeing her this upset hurt more than any surgery pain. "Tanya—"

But she stood and nudged the children to go play, and then left as soon as they ran off.

Snatching the crutches, he stood. And bit off a curse as gravity didn't want to play nicely with the surgery. Taking deep breaths until the worst of the pain passed, he went to the bedchamber.

The door was locked.

He knocked. "Tanya, let's talk."

Soft weeping came from within the room.

"Please, Tanya. I know you're so hurt."

Nothing. And nothing was even worse than anger.

* * *

Quiet clanking of dishes came from the kitchen at lunchtime.

The children played with blocks on the floor, so he pushed himself up and left the library.

She stood at the counter facing away and made sandwiches. Her back tensed, though, as if hearing the crutches. A low murmur.

"I couldn't hear you," he said carefully and slowly approached. It was hard to read her from behind.

"I wasn't thinking. Do you need the bedchamber to lie down?" Her voice came out thick, as if she'd been weeping for a long time.

The throbbing pain was well-deserved. "No, I don't need it."

Silence.

She didn't move.

Was she so hurt that she spoke softly enough that it couldn't be heard? Was she so angry that she was just waiting for him to leave? In the early days of marriage she had avoided him for a few days, but these hours were far more torturing to know this time that she was his soulmate and he'd truly broken her heart. Reaching a hand out to touch her back would make it possible to feel her vibrations if she spoke.

His fingertips barely brushed.

And she instantly pulled away.

It was a blow completely unexpected. Even when he was an arse, she would seek his comfort. The fact that she completely shut him out screamed of pain beyond anything she'd ever felt during their marriage. And just how alone she thought she was.

"Tanya, I realize I made a mistake in how I went about this, but I did it because I'm so scared of losing you." He swallowed hard as the memories slammed and his voice cracked. "Having you on the operating table for a cesarean section was terrifying, but then again the very next day because you were hemorrhaging...Tanya, I completely lost it that day, and your Grandfather had to physically restrain me to stop treatment once the bleeding calmed so I wouldn't over treat you. The risk of infection and complications from a normal cesarean are so high, and then I had to open you twice. And then watching you be in tears for days from pain because my seed was defective, and I couldn't do anything to help—"

She whirled around, her eyes puffy and red, and exploded. "You have no idea if you were the cause! You didn't do this for me, you did it for you! If it had been for me, you would've waited until I was ready to make such a permanent decision! Even if this wasn't a miscarriage, I'm trying to deal with the loss of having thought there was a babe! Then I find you this morning and made myself abundantly clear that I wasn't ready for this and had very real concerns over the side effects and long-term ramifications of this surgery! God knows if we'll find out in one year or five or ten if this was harmful to you! It'd serve you right if I got pregnant anyways! Dammit, you don't even know for certain if it causes sterility! What the hell have you done?!" Her hands covered her face, as if trying to calm herself, and she sniffled.

"Tanya." He set a hand on her arm.

She knocked it away as tears rolled down her face. "No, you do not get to be the comforting husband this time," she hissed. Then she grabbed two plates of sandwiches and brushed past. The library door slammed a moment later.

In bed that night, she faced away. She hadn't said a word, much less been in the same room except for meals, since lunchtime.

Shifting carefully on his back to try to find a comfortable position only caused more throbbing. Somehow foregoing tree bark and ice, as if feeling more physical pain could ease the guilt or take away some of her emotional pain, didn't seem like such a good idea at the moment. Letting out a slow, quiet breath to get through a particularly sharp throbbing made her side of the bed jiggle.

In the dark, there was also silence. Perhaps she said something too softly to hear.

Her silhouette crossed in front of the window and she left the bedchamber.

She was so upset that she wasn't going to sleep in the same bed. That was a stab to the heart.

Noise came from the kitchen for a moment.

Light filtered in, and she set a lantern on the nightstand, along with a glass of milk. Then she handed over three sticks of tree bark.

He must've had a surprised expression because she said, "I can hate you and love you at the same time." Then she slid down the sheet and eased an ice pack on. A frown wrinkled her brow. "Have you used ice at all since this morning?"

"Tanya, I'm sorry—"

"Shut up. I'm speaking to you as a patient."

There was little bite in her bark. A flicker of happiness ignited. At least there was some speaking. "I haven't since lunch."

"You're not an idiot and had to have realized how bad the swelling was getting. Since you can't be trusted, I'll stay up and monitor the icing for the next hour." Then she shoved another pillow behind him and handed over the milk.

"You don't need to stay up."

"Shut up and drink." It was said with a slight sigh, as if tired rather than angry. She fetched a book from her vanity bookcase, pulled over a chair, and sat with her nose buried in the book.

After drinking the milk and finishing gnawing on the third stick, the pain greatly decreased. And she hadn't once looked up. Sliding down the pillow offered a bit more of a comfortable recline. So many tears had left a mark of exhaustion on her face, but she was still so beautiful. And so very heartbroken.

"Go to sleep," she ordered without looking up.

"How am I to sleep with you sitting there watching?" The waters seemed to be warming, so no sense in not treading them.

"I have no desire to watch you. Go to sleep."

Ouch. So the water might still be a little cold, but her sass rather than anger had to be a good sign. So the silence remained.

She looked up from beneath her brow and seemed irritated by the fact that she was being watched. "Fine." She shot up and snatched the lantern and headed toward the door.

He caught her nightgown.

She froze but didn't turn to offer anything other than her profile.

"Or you could sit in bed where you'll be warm, if you insist on staying up," he offered.

"One doesn't sit in bed with a patient," she snapped and glared at him.

The water was icier than originally thought. It was best to not push. Releasing her nightgown, he gave a slow nod and looked at the sheets. It wasn't uncommon in England to see a marriage go sour. As a wet-behind-the-ears, new husband, it hadn't been understood at the time how men in drawing rooms would say sometimes a stupid act could damage a marriage forever. Tanya was not one to hold a grudge, which made this situation all the more dire. Dread clutched.

She was like a beautiful dove that returned to him over and over, willing to always forgive. But perhaps this act had inflicted irreparable damage...and she'd never quite land in his hand again. To have her near but forever out of reach would be a living hell of his own doing. To never have her brilliant smile turned upon him or feel her loving touch or speak of nothing and everything like best friends were want to do...it would be his perfect hell.

She took the lantern and left, her footsteps silent in this world of deafness that would likely become more and more his companion every day in this widening rift with her.

* * *

Work consumed the next day, thankfully. Time passed, mounting the misery with each hour. Tanya hadn't been in bed when he'd awoken, and it'd been impossible to tell if she'd returned last night. The stress and exhaustion from surgical pain all day had made sleep come too easily.

"Where's the missus, Doc?" the blacksmith asked.

It would've been cruel to ask Tanya to come along to check on the babe when she was grieving over never having another. She'd been in the play room with the children. So, he'd left her a note on the kitchen table that he was on a call, if she even cared.

"It doesn't take two to diagnose a cold," he growled. If the blacksmith sensed any discord and thought he'd come swooping in to steal her away...

"I wanted to thank her for helping find another wet nurse."

"I'll pass along your gratitude," he mumbled. "Make sure she nurses well and gets plenty of sleep. If she won't nurse, get her to take water at least. Her weight is picking up, so she shouldn't have trouble getting rid of this. Call me if she develops a cough or a fever or won't take anything for more than a day. Let's check your incision as long as I'm here."

The mercantile owner stopped him on the way home for his gout, and it just went from seeing one urgent patient to another in their homes the rest of the day. And it made the absence of Tanya hurt even more to not only have this rift at home but at work too.

It was late when he finally shuffled up the ramp to the front door that night. Dear god, the pain from being on his feet all day after surgery was growing unbearable.

No lanterns were lit and the house was quiet. The children would've gone to bed a couple hours ago.

Closing the door, a light in the library caught his eye. Stepping into the doorway, his heart pounded in nervousness. If there was anytime to say exactly the right thing, it was now.

Tanya sat in the window seat with a book and still wore her day clothes. She looked up.

Please say the right thing. His heart suddenly stopped and the air left the room. "Hello." Hello?

"Are you done working for the day?" Her voice was soft, as if exhausted.

"Yes." A hundred things to say came to mind, followed by the need to hold her and kiss away the loneliness in her eyes. But none of it seemed right.

Then she set aside her book and stood but didn't cross the distance. "I'll go change for bed since you don't need me." She began to pass without eye contact.

That was an odd thing to say. Reaching out, he stopped at the last moment because it would be unwanted contact. Turning to look at her back as she exited into the small foyer, he said, "I wasn't sure if there'd be a desire to give assistance."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her face void of all emotion. "I was doubtful my assistance would be needed anyways. Goodnight."

"Why would you think you wouldn't be needed?"

Her feet halted again. This time she didn't turn. "You didn't send for me, did you?" She turned, already knowing the answer.

A pang of regret hit. A voice whispered that she'd been waiting for him to send for her. It would've been an olive branch that sounds like she may've accepted...and somehow this had turned into her not being wanted.

The silence must've been mistaken for an answer because she hurried away.

Either the pain or being miserable without her or perhaps a combination made him march after her, the anger and hurt overpowering the physical pain. Catching her arm in the bedchamber doorway, he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her with abandon. And she too readily accepted, as if needing comfort.

"Goddammit, I don't know what's going on right now," he snapped, "I wanted you there with me today, but I also know you hate me right now. It's been some of the most miserable forty-eight hours of my life, and I can't stand this not speaking to each other," he hissed. "If you're going to hate me, at least cry or yell at me instead of shutting me out!"

Her lips moved and head bowed as her mouth went out of sight.

"I didn't hear anything." Catching her chin to tilt her head up, his heart stopped in surprise. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"If I could have a babe right, none of this would have happened." Her voice barely broke through the silence.

"Oh my god, Tanya, no." He crushed her in a hug. "Charles was just fine. The only differentiating factor is me. None of this is your fault, and nothing with Della was your fault."

"You won't accept that it could've been a fluke, and you said with each pregnancy—"

"Forget what I said. Tanya, with all of that aside, I don't know if your womb could safely handle a pregnancy because I had to go in with a vertical incision the second time to find where the hemorrhaging was coming from. You would need a cesarean section for any future births because your womb wouldn't be able to handle labor without possibly tearing and needing emergency surgery."

She pulled back and looked up with a tear stained face. "What? You never talked about that."

He swallowed hard. This wouldn't be a secret she'd appreciate. "I didn't want you afraid if there was a surprise babe."

"You've known since she was born?!" She let go and stepped around him.

"No. No, about a year ago, I looked through all of my patient records at women who needed vertical cesarean sections. I've reviewed dozens of medical articles on the subject. The vast majority of women who tried natural births ended up needing emergency surgery. The risk of emergency surgery after a vertical cesarian section is so incredibly high, and the mortality rate is even worse."

"But, maybe some were just bad physicians."

He shook his head. "I researched who were their attendings and threw out cases whose physician reputations I couldn't confirm or didn't know myself, as well as any cases where complications could've contributed to needing surgery. I know it's not the answer you want to hear, but looking at your medical history and this research...my medical opinion is both you and the babe would be at a high risk for complications. Your mortality rate increases exponentially with even a planned cesarian section. It was a miracle that you didn't need a hysterectomy, much less survived Della's birth. As your husband, I'm not willing to take that chance. In all honesty, these last weeks were a wake-up call. I was so terrified if there was another babe. I know your heart was set on more children, but I only want a healthy family, no matter how many children that is."

Her face fell and she looked down at her hands. Then she looked up. "I wish you would've told me."

Some of the weight from the past two days lifted. Perhaps this would lead to greener pastures. "I didn't want you to think any of it was your fault, but I guess it didn't matter in the end." A small sigh escaped to breathe through a wave of pain. Shit. Not now, not when she was finally opening up.

She cocked her head as a stray tear slipped from the corner of her eye. "You blame yourself for Della, but you never truly blamed yourself as the reason for not having more babes, did you? You only said that so I wouldn't think it was my fault."

Then she frowned and set a hand to his brow. "Why are you sweating? Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine. If—"

But she took his hand and tugged toward the bed. "You didn't ice at all today, did you? How long were you on your feet?" The woman didn't wait for an answer before stripping him. "Mark! Oh my god."

A nervous laugh answered. "I don't think I want to look."

"I don't think you do. I don't know how you're not in tears. Lie down. You certainly shouldn't be wearing your prosthesis—it only encourages you to be on your feet. You aren't working tomorrow." She started to unbuckle the prosthesis.

"But—"

"I'll see to any patients and consult you if needed."

Ten minutes later, she had worked miracles for the pain.

He held out a hand as she got up with the medical bag. "Thank you. I can sleep in the extra bedchamber, if you wish."

She looked at his hand but didn't take it. Her eyes grew red with unshed tears. "I understand now why you had surgery...but you promised we'd always be partners." Her voice broke as her face crumpled and she met his eyes. "Within two days, I found out that we might've lost a babe and there never would be another. I needed you to be there to get through it, not to take away more before I was ready."

"Oh god, Tanya, I'm sorry." He pushed himself up the pillows and held out his arms. "Come here—"

With a sniffle, she brushed at her eyes and took a step back.

That haunted look returned to her eyes—the one that had been there the day he'd taken her from her father's house. It was that withered look of being all alone and fighting so hard to not break. She tried to hold up against the pain of not just a possible miscarriage and shattered dreams of a house full of children, but also...abandonment.

An awful wave of guilt slammed.

She was about to break for perhaps the first time in her life and didn't know what to do besides keep away the source of the pain—him.

Pushing aside the blankets, he held the bedpost and stood on one leg. Before she even had a chance to react, he pulled her into his arms.

Her body tensed and she inhaled a sharp breath.

But he only held tighter, forcing in love that could help heal her. "I made a terrible timing error, but I've always been here for you," he whispered and buried his face in her hair. "I know it's hard to see it right now, but I did this right away because I love you so much and couldn't risk you. I'd do anything to keep you and the children safe."

Her whole body trembled as she fought the tears.

"I'm sad too that it might've been a miscarriage, and I'm sad that I can't safely give you more babes."

"But I can't," she hiccupped, battling sobs.

"We make a babe together. It's no one's fault. We're in all of this together."

He held her tight in bed as she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Charles crept closer to the settee in the library the next day, his eyes fixated on the door. His mouth moved. _Papa_.

"What is it, son?" The boy appeared almost frightened.

 _Mama screamed._

Stunned surprise froze every muscle for a split instant. Tanya was in the clinic today while he rested, but there hadn't been any noise out front of someone arriving...unless footsteps had been careful to be quiet, then the deafness would've masked anyone coming.

Shooting up and snatching the crutches, the panic suppressed the surgical pain. "Stay here."

The moment he closed the library door, Tanya burst through the connecting clinic door in the foyer. And so did a soldier who had a hand around her neck.

"You harboring Injuns, Doc?"

The man held her arm behind her back in a way that would break it or severely damage her shoulder if she moved. Her cheek was red, as if the scum had hit her.

How dare another coward try to harm her, and in this home. Blinding rage slammed out all conscious thought.

A deafening roar.

Mark flung a crutch through the air at the soldier.

The grip loosened enough to break free, just in time to stumble away as Mark lept at the man.

They both slammed to the floor, but Mark somehow climbed on top of the man and didn't lose leverage with only one leg.

An excessively hard punch stunned the soldier enough for Mark to snatch the gun out of the holster.

He held it to the soldier's temple, and the man stilled. "How many others are here?" His voice shook with rage as much as his entire body.

The man showed little sign of fear. "Shooting an officer is a hanging offense."

Mark didn't seem to hear. "How many?!"

"Half of my platoon. It's our job to round up the red skins."

"For what?" he snarled.

A sickening smile spread over his lips. "Slaves. And exactly what you use that Injun for."

 _Bang!_

The shock made it impossible to put the pieces together.

The officer didnt move.

Mark didn't move.

Mark held a gun.

The officer's head was turned to the side. Blood began to pool on the floor.

The horror hit.

"What did you do?" she gasped and sank to her knees. "You'll be killed for murdering an officer," she breathed. Oh god, oh god, oh god. "What did you do?!"

"Fetch my leg," he snapped and slid off the man. "He's a Confederate and a deserter—his eyes dilated and pulse quickened when he said he was with a platoon. It's a wonder he even made it this far north. Fucking thinks he'll walk into my home and assault my wife," he hissed, "I'm within my legal right to shoot a Confederate."

"Mama!" Charles and Della started to sob from within the library.

"Stay there! It's alright, I'm coming!" Hauling herself up, she ran to the bedchamber and gave Mark his leg.

"Stay with the children while I get the sheriff."

Moments later, Grandfather and Brigands came running up the steps with shot guns.

Opening the window, she flagged them over and quietly explained everything.

Charles popped out from behind the curtain. "He tried to hurt Mama! I need a gun! I can help Papa fight bad guys!"

"Hush, Charles! You aren't to touch a gun. Go play with your sister. You know you aren't to eavesdrop," she scolded, her hands still shaking.

Mark walked up the ramp and stood beside Grandfather and Brigands on the porch. "Hurry home so it doesn't look like an ambush on an officer. The sheriff is coming." Then he headed for the door.

She closed the window, and Mark stepped into the library a moment later.

Charles ran over to him, the picture of a brave boy now after having been consoled from tears. "I want a gun to help fight bad guys from Mama."

Mark blinked and looked down. "No. If I catch you near a gun, I'll give you the first spanking of your life, understood?"

Charles's eyes widened. "Yes, Papa."

"Go watch your sister while I check Mama."

Mark came over to the settee and sat, adjusting the fake leg to sit sideways so he could face her. Then his fingers gentLy palpated her throat. "Was he there long? Charles told me that he heard you scream—I didn't hear anything." Guilt flickered in his eyes.

"He walked in and asked where the Doc was. I had a strange feeling, so I said you'd be right back. He looked at me for a moment and grabbed my arm and came in the house..." Her eyes fell to his chest as the awful memory and shame returned.

"Where did he touch you?" His voice came out gentle and patient.

Her eyes flew to his face. How did he know? She pulled free and stood back, looking away. The fact that he could so easily tell made it that much more humiliating.

"I know you," he said softly. "It would take more to make you scream than a man storming in and grabbing your throat."

"He didn't get his pants off," she snapped, low enough that the children wouldn't hear and he'd have to lip read.

A knock at the front door.

The clinic was a mess, clearly indicating a struggle. The lantern and papers from the desk were strewn on the floor, and the sheets were on the floor from one bed, with the mattress twisted sideways across the bed frame. How had he not heard any of this?

His eyes flew to her, but she kept her gaze locked on the floor and answered the sheriff's questions. Not one mention of any kind of sexual assault. But then again, most women were too ashamed to tell anyone, much less another man.

The sheriff moved into the foyer where the body was.

While the sheriff took notes, he knelt and inspected the man's hands. Fresh blood under the nails of the right hand—very likely Tanya's blood. She had no wounds visible. His stomach clenched. God help him, he'd figure out how to bring the bastard back from the dead to kill him again. He yanked the pants down, ignoring the sound of material ripping.

"Uh, Doc?"

No blood or obvious signs of recent intercourse. But there was a freshly made bruise, as if Tanya had gotten a kick in. "I hope it hurt like hell, you son of a bitch," he muttered. Then he stood. "Tanya, would you make sure the children are alright?"

She disappeared into the library.

"She's not usually so subdued. He has blood under his fingernails." His voice shook with rage. "I think he sexually assaulted her, but I need to check and talk to her to tell how far it got. She's not going to acquiesce readily, much less with you in the house."

He nodded. "I hope he scratched her leg and that's as far as he got. I'll need a medical report of the injuries on her neck and shoulder. Any unmentionables I'll leave to your discretion how detailed those need to be documented. As you know, the sooner the documentation, the better it holds up legally. This is clearly a case of a break in and defense. Do you have papers on her?"

"Papers?"

She walked out at just that moment.

"Defending that she's your Injun and you had a right to protect your property?"

His hands fisted and he hissed, "She's my wife."

"Few courts would agree that gives her or you spousal rights because of her...pedigree. I need to see slave papers."

If she hadn't looked ashamed before, she certainly did now.

Storming to the bedchamber, he returned with the papers and thrusted them at the sheriff. "And for my children," he snapped and glanced at her. Tanya kept her head down. "I can check your prostate while we're at it."

The sheriff blinked. "Why?"

"It'd be just as beneficial," he barked.

Tanya's head ducked down farther and her hand flew up to stifle a laugh. At least she didn't seem ashamed for a moment.

"Dr. Johnson, it's simply a formality." The sheriff looked at the papers. "You were told the children need papers?"

"Yes, a lawyer said after my daughter's birth that we should have them for any children being they are part Native American. Are we going to wait for the body to bury itself, or can I get rid of it before my children are traumatized?"

Once the body was disposed, he closed the front door and turned to her.

She backed up, as if knowing what was coming. "Replace the floorboards before the children see."

"Tanya," he said gently but didn't move, "you need to be treated so cuts don't become infected."

Her arms wrapped around herself and she stared at the floor. "I never said there were cuts. I'm fine. Replace the bloodstained boards so the children aren't scared." Then she disappeared into the library.

"She won't say anything, but I can tell she's scared. He did something." Lily came out of the library a bit later after being fetched to see if she could reach Tanya. "Go in there and be the man who makes her feel safe. She's frightened and needs you."

"Would you watch the children for a bit?"

"I've been wanting to make some Christmas cookies with my grandbabies." Lily swooped into the library, and the children were bundled and off to her house minutes later.

Tanya sat curled up in the window seat with tears in her eyes as she watched the children leave.

"They're just going for a bit to make sweets," he said softly and eased onto the other end of the window seat.

Her eyes didn't shift from the window as she brushed a tear from her cheek. "I know you sent them away. No exam," she breathed.

"I am always your husband first." He laid a hand over hers where she wrapped her arms over her knees. "I'm sorry that I didn't hear you, Tanya. I'm going to talk to Theodore about fashioning locks for the clinic."

A sniffle answered. "Normal people don't need locks. It's not safe for the children for me to be here—"

"What? You're upset and frightened. You're their mother, and we all need you. We'll put a lock on the clinic door." He scooted closer. "You were attacked and are naturally scared, and I just really want to hold you, my Tanya."

It took no more than that before she scrambled into his lap and burst into tears.

She laid back for a split instant in the bedchamber. And shot up just as fast.

"Alright. That's alright, sweetheart," he cooed when she breathed hard in a panic. The bastard must've tried to push her down on the bed that had been torn apart—she seemed frightened to be on her back. "Can you sit on the edge of the bed?" He took her hand and guided her forward.

She trembled but didn't resist.

Examining her for the first time during the pregnancy with Charles had resulted in his own retching and nightmares from seeing the damage from the rape. She'd hardly shown fear then, but that had been months after the rape. This was just hours after what kind of assault, he didn't even know yet. There was no doubt that she trusted simply because it was him.

A wave of nausea hit. It was horrible enough what she'd been through the first time and then with the soldiers at the tribe, but now...

Drawing a deep breath helped still his shaking hands.

Scratches covered under her skirts.

Holding her hand tighter, he lowered her skirt and held her eyes. "I need to do an internal exam to make sure you don't have scratches that could become infected. Did he...?"

Her eyes welled with tears and her hands shook harder. "He didn't get his pants off." She brushed away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "I, I don't r, remember what else."

Either she'd been fighting too hard and too scared to notice, or her mind tried to keep a terrible memory locked away. It wasn't uncommon for patients to have trouble accurately recalling an assault.

Gathering his obstetrics bag from the clinic, his stomach twisted. At medical university, never had he dreamed of needing to one day examine his wife for assault. And never had it occurred that he'd be examining her once again for assault.

This somehow felt worse with her not being a stranger this time—actually being responsible for keeping her safe, actually loving her this time. And he'd failed her. One goddamn room away and he'd failed. In his own fucking home. The room spun. He sank to onto the edge of a hospital bed and drew deep breaths. She didn't need to see him lose it.

No visible internal injuries.

The request for a bath didn't come as a surprise—it often was the first thing that women who suffered assault requested, sometimes bathing before an exam and scrubbing themselves raw and destroying any evidence.

She asked twice if the house doors were locked and pleaded for him to keep the fake leg on and stay near while she washed. Something inside died a little because he no longer made her feel absolutely safe.

Since the exam, she'd gone from not wanting to be touched to needing a hand on him at all times. That worked well as an excuse to stay near and keep an eye on her.

"Tanya, that's too hot." He felt the water in the tub after adding another pot of hot water off the stove. "I'll add some cool water."

When he turned around in the kitchen with another bucket filled from the pump, she was already in the tub. Her skin glowed almost red from the heat. And she went at her thighs with a rag, almost as if in a panic.

"No! Tanya, you'll hurt your skin!" He set down the bucket and hurried over. Diving a hand into the steaming water, he snatched the rag from her. He held it away, ignoring his soaked sleeve.

"No, I need it!" She burst into tears and tried to reach for it.

"Sweetheart." He cupped her cheek to meet her eyes. "Let me help. I'll make sure he's gone," he said softly.

She sniffled and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

He fetched a bottle of alcohol from his bag and put a small amount on the rag as he knelt beside the tub. Then he eased her leg out of the water and gently tended to the cuts that had already been cleaned. It was psychological that she needed to be washed clean of the soldier now. He glided the rag over one leg and then the other to wash her.

Slowly, she reclined back and seemed to let the panic subside.

Then he held her eyes and slowly glided the rag up higher. "I'll be gentle and only wash," he said softly.

She tensed the slightest bit as the rag crept up her inner thigh. He stilled but she didn't protest. So he slowly continued. Her brow furrowed slightly in pain where the scratches covered the most sensitive flesh.

When he withdrew, she caught his hand and took the rag. A soft cry of pain came from her lips as she tried to wash far too hard for such delicate skin.

Catching her hand to stop her, he rolled up his sleeves and took the rag.

No words needed to be spoken. He held her eyes, and she didn't break the gaze as she silently spread her legs.

The profound trust she set in his hands made him still for a moment. She shouldn't want him so close, much less make herself so vulnerable after a sexual attack. Yet she trusted him completely to take care of her. "I love you, Tanya. You don't have to let me."

Her hand wrapped around his upper arm and held tight. "I want you to make him go away," she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek.

So he continued to bathe away every trace of her terrible memories.

"Why did you kill him?" She looked up from where he wrapped a towel around her.

"Because he posed a threat to my family and he had clearly hit you, at a minimum. Charles looked terrified when he'd said you'd screamed—he's heard you scream from mice or bugs and never looked frightened."

"But you decided after that to shoot him." She looked up with those big, beautiful brown eyes and let him pull her close to keep shivers of cold away.

The words needed to be heard. "Because if he'd been with a band of deserters, he might've tried to take you." A lump rose in his throat. "Because he saw you as a disposable thing and would've shattered my world the first chance he got. Because my purpose in life is to keep you and the children from harm. Because this is our home where my wife and children will always be safe."

She reached up and touched his cheek. " _You_ are where we are safe." Her face crumpled and she clutched his hand to her chest. "I'm scared because he got in here. Don't go on any calls tonight."

"I'll bring you and the children if I have to go. The doors and windows are locked. You're safe." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I want the children home."

She was scared and wanted to hole up everyone in the house. "The children will finish baking, and you and I will walk over to get them in a bit. We aren't going to hide from the world."

Tanya remained very clingy the rest of the day and even in bed that night. It wasn't until she finally was fast asleep that it dawned that she'd been all alone after the rape while her father had been in the hospital. The bastard had probably left her alone many nights while drinking at pubs. It wasn't just protection from assault today that she sought, but protection from old wounds and fears that had been ripped open.

He sent up a prayer for guidance on how to get her through this.

The children seemed to notice that she was withdrawn and nervous the next day. Luckily, there was only one old lady who stopped in to pick up more medicine.

"Let's go to the mercantile and see what they have for Christmas presents!" Mark announced in the library.

She looked up and frowned.

He held up the block of wood that he'd been trying to widdle into a horse for Charles's Christmas present.

She burst into laughter. "I think we've finally found something the Marquess isn't good at."

"Who's the Marquess?" Charles looked up from where he had tied Della's doll to his toy train.

Her hand flew to her mouth. Blowing Mark's cover wasn't a good idea. "What are you playing?"

Charles grinned. "Soldiers and Injuns! I got an Injun and will throw it off the bridge!"

"Where the hell did you learn that?!" Mark roared and shot up and ripped the doll off the train.

Charles startled and looked up with wide eyes. "Sc, school." He burst into tears.

"Mark, he doesn't know better." She dropped to the floor and hugged Charles.

"Don't you ever say 'Injun' or play any kind of game about killing them!" He threw the doll on the floor.

"No!" But before she could stop him, the China doll smashed.

He cursed, and Della burst into tears. "Dolly bye!" she wailed.

Mark walked over the broken porcelain and scooped up Della. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break her. We'll go buy a new Dolly." Then he walked over to Charles and traded children. "Charles, you aren't in trouble."

The boy sobbed against his shoulder.

He looked at her for a moment and then said, "Charles, I had friends who are Native American—what people sometimes call Injun as a mean word. Soldiers tried to kill my friends just for looking different. My friends are very kind and smart, but people thought looking different was bad. So they were mean to my friends a lot."

"B,but the b,boys at school said t,they're bad and stupid. We play cowboys and I,Injuns at recess."

"There are some good Native Americans and some bad, just like there are good and bad white people. Someday you'll meet my friends and understand."

"Will it be scary when I meet the Ativ Rican?"

Mark cracked a smile. "Native Americans. No, you and my friends love each other very much."

"Papa?" Charles sat back and Mark brushed away the tears. "Should my train throw the mean soldiers off the bridge?"

Mark laughed and hugged his son. "How about no one is thrown off, and the soldiers and Native Americans all play together."

Charles frowned. "That's no fun. Can they throw bad guys off the bridge?"

"Alright, they can throw bad guys off."

Brigands and Teresa came along to the mercantile, but Grandfather and Grandmama tried to avoid public places.

She carried Della to look for dolls while Brigands and Charles inspected toy soldiers and horses and Charles gave a lesson on being nice to 'Ativ Ricans.' Teresa grabbed a few items for Grandmama.

Mark walked over with a smile and held out a doll to Della. "The prettiest one I could find."

Her little face lit up and she hugged the doll. "Dolly fix."

"Alright, if you want to believe I resurrected her..." He kissed her hair and straightened. "Does Mama want anything?"

She cracked a smile. "A bigger pot."

"A bigger pot it is." He set a hand on her back and stood on his toes to see over the shelves. "Up near the door. You needed flour too, right?"

"Should you be carrying anything yet after surgery?"

He waved a hand. "I'm not an invalid. I'll grab the flour."

She walked to the front of the mercantile and happened to glance out the window. And panic hit. Three Confederate soldiers came toward the shop.

Running through the aisles, she grabbed Mark's arm just as he was about to pick up a sac of flour and whipped him around to look at her. "Confederates are coming in," she mouthed. "You need to get out."

His eyes narrowed and then scanned the shop. "They're not likely after me. Give me Della and go stand in the back corner and keep your face hidden." He pulled up her hood and yanked Della from her arms. As she hurried to the back, Mark ran down another aisle and shoved Della at Theresa. Then he signaled something to Brigands and ran to the front of the shop to pretend to look at horse tack. He and the merchant, who worshipped Mark after having his granddaughter saved from cholera, exchanged a glance. The merchant set his shot gun against the wall behind the counter. Had Mark told him about the break in?

Three soldiers entered with heavy footsteps.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" the merchant said.

"We're looking for a deserter who likely came through these parts. The sheriff said he ain't know nothing about it. We stopped at your Doc's place to see if the felon had been by there, but there was no answer."

"The lumberyard Doc—"

"No," the soldier cut in, "everyone says there's a real surgeon."

Before the merchant could answer, Mark's voice cut in. "I'll take this horse whip."

Horse whip? Mark didn't use those. Did he want some kind of a weapon in hand just in case?

"I'm one of the surgeons for the town. I overheard your conversation. If I saw any soldier, I would've reported it to the sheriff. Sounds like you already talked to him. My apologies I couldn't be of more aid. If a soldier comes to my clinic, I'll let the sheriff know."

Silence.

"Are you the Injun lover?"

The frown in Mark's voice was apparent. "I'm from Europe and came over with my family. I've heard the natives wear quite the unusual clothing, and I haven't seen any around these parts."

He was being quick on his feet so far.

"Rumors say a Doc around these parts married an Injun."

Mark smirked. "Ignorant Americans. She's Spanish and many Americans confuse it for Native American."

"Take us to her. An Injun wedding a white man is a criminal offense."

"Then I'm sure no one is stupid enough to break that law. She's here. I'll find her and bring her up, to satisfy your curiosity."

Oh god, what had he done? His footsteps approached.

"Drop your hair and keep it over one side of your face," he whispered. Then his hand reached around and wiped something cold and slimy down one side of her face. His hand came away red and he stuck a jar of jam and his handkerchief inside a pot as she let down her top knot. Then he took her hand and led her forward. Keeping her gaze down would help mask the shape of her eyes. Whatever he planned had better be damn good.

"As you can see, her hair color doesn't match the black that I've heard the natives have."

A soldier stepped forward and tried to sweep her hair aside from her face. And got jam on himself.

"Oh god, no! You touched where her skin is falling off!" Mark shouted.

She jumped just as hard as the men.

Mark snatched a new handkerchief off the counter and wiped the man's hand. "She has Skelnichevious leprosy!" He grabbed a large bottle of gin and dumped some on the man's hand and then shoved the bottle at him. "Drink it! Hurry! The alcohol will kill any of it that might've gotten in your blood! Make sure you ride in fresh air for twelve hours straight to keep it from settling in his body! Go! Go! No time to lose!"

The soldier chugged the bottle as his comrades raced him outside. They charged down the road on their horses like the devil was on their heels.

Mark chuckled and rested a hand on the counter. "Idiots."

She blinked.

The merchant blinked and then looked at Mark.

Stunned silence. Mark seemed completely relaxed.

"Mark, what's Skelnichevious leprosy? I've never heard of it."

He shrugged. "Don't know. I made it up." Then he turned to the merchant, who still gaped. "I believe I also owe you for a jar of jam, handkerchief, and gin, my good man."

Brigands laughed and came up with Teresa and the children. "That's jam? It looks awful."

"Yes, which is why I had to get it off his hand before he smelled it. He'll be dead drunk in about fifteen minutes, and those idiots will be riding for twelve hours—long enough to stay out of our hair."

She laughed. "Mark, you're a genius."

"We'll see what you're saying when we're trying to get your hair clean of jam."

Everyone set their items on the counter to buy when Charles said, "Papa? Is Mama the bad name that the man said?"

She looked at Mark and he looked at her, seeming as uncertain as her whether to answer truthfully. A child holding that kind of information would likely lead to unintenional problems.

The merchant leaned his elbows down on the counter. "Your mama is the bravest person I've ever met. Sometimes so brave that we need to protect her from people who don't want her to be brave."

"Is that why you got your gun, sir?"

The merchant nodded. "And your papa."

She blinked in surprise to see a small gun in a holster on Mark's hip under his cloak. Then Brigands smiled and pulled back his cloak to reveal a gun.

"When did you get that?!" Teresa screeched.

"When he got his when we moved to the Wild West." Brigands smiled.

"Can I have one too?" Charles turned his hip out, as if waiting.

"When you have gray hair. Grab your toy horse, and let's go," Mark said. Then he looked at the merchant and held out a hand. No thanks needed to be spoken between the two men.

That run-in seemed to help Tanya relax. Perhaps being reminded that brains could outwit braun sometimes gave her more security to not be as clingy the rest of the day. She even laughed a few times.


End file.
